Stack 

Annex 

PS 

1822 

T36 


Number  215 


»^^ 


TENNESSEE'S 
PARTNER 

JOHN    BURNS    OF 
GETTYSBURG 

AND   OTHER   POEMS   AND  STORIES 
BY 

BRET  HARTE 

EDITED   BY 
CHARLES  SWAIN    THOMAS,    A.M 


HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN   COMPANY 
BOSTON,    NEW   YORK,  CHICAGO 

Cbe  tfilicrsibc  prcs»  Cambribgc 


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'iiti iiiu(ttiivf,tintnitiiii'r.tu-n{--t>wniitrm>  w/tiatiiiii  win IUHHIIH w»> 


Price,  paper,  15  cents;  linen,  25  cents 


AH  price*  lire  ni't, 

1.  Longfellow's    Erangellne.    fai>er,    15 1    lui 

liufn,  .50. 
I.  Longfellow's  Courtship  of  Miles  Standish  ;  Elizabeth.    /'.//.••••,   1.1  -.  liuti,.  2.1. 

5.  A  Dramatization  of  The  Courtship  of  Miles  St.  inilish.     /'.<,../•,    1.1. 
4.    Whittier'3  Snow-Hound,  etc.     /'.i/,.-r,    1.1  ;/<„.•/.,  .2.1 

4.    Whittler's  Mabel  Martin,  etc.     /'.i,,,-/-,  .1.1.     Xo«.  I,  '.  one  v. .'...tm-n.   4". 

6.  Holmcs's    Grandmother's     Story   of    Bunker    Hill    B.itt...-.   etc       J'ii,,ir     1  . 

Hum.  .2.1.     X..«.  li,  ai.wic  vol.,  tin, 
7,8,9.   Hawthorne's  Grandfather's  C'lair.    In  three  parts.    Kucli,  /. .</,.•,•,   M.    .V,,   r 

s.  '.I,  complete',  one  vol.,  lim-n,  .•'". 

Id.  Hawthorne's  Biographical  Series.  /'<I/»T,  .11.  X..-.  '-".'.  1".  on--  vol.  .!,„.  „.  |o 
11.  Longfellow's  Children's  Hour,  etc.  /'.i//.-,-,  n.  \,.,.  1 :.'.:.  ..i  „•  \. ,:..,',.,.-.,  40. 
r.'.  Outlines —Longfellow,  Whittier.  Holmes,  and  1  •  ,.!'. 

1  •(,  14.   Longfellow's  Song  of  Hiawatha.     In  tw..  parts,  each,  ,•;,.•.,  .1.1.     Xo*.   1  :.   1 1 

comiilete.  one  vol.,  Hum,    I". 
l.i.  Lowell's  Under  the  Old  Elm,  etc.     /' 
I-'..  Bayard  Taylor's  Lars.    l'<tii> •<-,  .1.1 :  /./..;.,  2.1. 
17,1s.   Hawthorne's  Wonder-Book.    In  two  purti,  eiirh,  juicer,  M,    Xo«.  17,  1~,  coin 

plete,  one  vol.,  //'/„•«,  .40. 
Ki,  JO.   Franklin's  Autobiography.    In   two  p.irn.  each,  ;.<I;<T,  .1.1.     Xu-.  1.',  -o,  con. 

Illete,  one  Vol..  lillfll,   .11. 

21.   Franklin's  Poor  Richard's  Almanac,  etc. 

22,2.1.    Hawthorne's  Tanglcwood  Tales.     In   two   partu,  each,  ;.«/»T,  .L5      X.m.  •_'-',  2  '. 

24.   Washington's  Rule  of  Conduct,  Diary,  etc.     /'",<•  •'•  ''• :  ''»•  ".  •'-•"'• 
25, 2iS.   Longfellow's  Golden  Leg.                          ,          .   i". 

27.  Thoreau's  Forest  Trees,  etc.     1'n/ifr,  .].'>.    '  .  om1  vol.,  Wncn,  .,v». 

28.  Burroughs's  Birds  and  Bees.     /•<;/„•,-.  .1.1.     N           .  vol., /IH<  H,  .40. 
2'.i.  Hawthorne's  Little  Daflydowndilly,  etc      /'     •  ••,   i  ;         «,  -.'.. 

:*i.   Lowell's  Vision  of  Sir  L.iunf:i .. 

;il.   Holmes's  My  Hunt  after  the  Captai  ,.M. 

:«.   Lincoln's  Gettysburg  Speech,  etc.     /•./...  .1;..  Nu                         vol.,  fincn,  .40. 

XS,  S4.;tt     Longfellow's   Tales  of  a   Wayside   Inn.  In   three,    parts,  each,j/<«/;»-r,  .15 

X.w.  3S,  »4,.Vi,  COtnpl. •:.'.  one  vol.,  li 

SB.  Burroughs's  Sharp  Eyes,  etc.     /"'//".   i .'.://..•».  .'.'.i. 

37.  Warner's  A-Hunting  of  the  Deer,  etc.    /'.i/.n-,  .1.'. ;  /m.  H,  .'.'.-,. 

38.  Longfellow's  Building  of  the  Sniii,  etc      l',i 
S».  Lowell's  Books  and  Libraries      • 

40.  Hawthorne's   Tales  of  the    While    Hills,  etc.    I'nj"  ',.1.1;   '    i'/i,  .2.1.     Xo».  4<>,  if.) 

one  vol..  /i-,. 

41.  Whlttier's  Tent  on  the  Beach,  etc.     /'.>;  ...  .p.. 

42.  Emerson's  Fortune  of  the  Kcpuhlio.  etc.  /'./;»  r.   1     N*..«.  11  ;.  U.  one  vol.,  linrn, .«. 
«.   Ulysses  among  the  Phaeac-ians.     liitvvxr.     /• ./.  .    ,   li ;/,;..-,,  2.1. 

44.  Edgeworth's  Waste  Not,  Want   Not,  etc.     l',i       .  .1.1. 

45.  Haoaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient  Home.     /'.;/,.;-,  .1.', ;/.«.«.  .2.1. 
4ii.   Old  Testament  Stories  in  Script uri    I    .    .  >   •    .   !' 
47,48.   Scudder's  Fables  and   Folk  Sio; •: 

4-s,  complete,  one  vol..  In |o. 

49,  .V).    Andersen's  Stories.    In  two  pnrts. . 

51.  Irving's  Rip  Van  Winkle,  etc      /•.// 

52.  Irving's  The  Voyage,  etc.    /'.i/»  > .  .!.'..    N  .-. 

43.  Scott's    Lady   of   the    Lake.      /'.//»;•,   ...n. 

Ttarhi-rn.  ..V!. 

44.  Bryant's  Thanatopsis,  etc.     /'.»/»•»•.  .1.1  :  /K, 
4*.    Shakespeare's  Merchant  of  Venice.     /'.ie. 

46.  Webster's  First  Bunker  Hill  Oration,  etc 
57.   Dickens's  Christmas  Carol.     /'»,>". 

M.  Dickens's  Cricket  on  the  Hearth.  /'«/.'/•,  .11.  Xon.  .17,  .I1*,  one 
5St.  Verse  and  Prose  for  BecinncrM  in  Readinir.  /'"/»  '-.  .1.1 :  tin.,,. 
6(1,61.  Addison  and  Stecle's  The  Sir  Hocer  de  Coverley  Pape 

Kach,  jm,,,-r.  .1.1.     Xo».  i;n,  .,1,  one  vol..  tin,  n.   4" 
ffl.   Flske's  War  of  Independence.     /•,,,,,,-,  .:;o  ;  /, 
m.   Longfellow's  Paul  Reverc's  Rido.  etc      /'<i/» 
*4,  05,  u;.    Lambs'  Tales  from  Shakespeare.     In  t 

ft1.iifi.onev.il..  /III^H.  ..VI. 

»;7.  Shakespeare'*  Julius  Caesar.     /'-<;>•  r,  .1',  :  lm*n,  'J.i. 

iW.  Goldsmith's  Deserted  Village,  etc.     /',;;../-,    1.1:  /,„.,,.  .2.'.. 

8S.  Hawthorne's  The  Old  Manse.  ,tc.     /',,,.,,  ,| -,.    x,,«.  40,  1:1.  or 

70.  A  Selection  from  Wliittier's  Child  Life  in  Poetry.     /M/.-r 

71.  A  Belsction  from  Whittier's  Child  Life  in   Prose      /•.!/.<• 

vol.,  ;in<-n,  .40. 

7S.   Milton's  Minor  Poems.     /'O,..T,   M  :  /in. •».  .2.1. 
7J.   T«nnyson's  F.noch  Arden.  etc.     /•„,,.  r.  .11  ;  /,«,<../.  .2.1. 
74.    Oray's  Elegy,  etc.  ;  Cowper's  John  Cril  pin.  etc       /'./,..  r.  .1.1. 
7*.    Scudder's  Gi-oree  Washinelon.     /'" 
78.    Wordiworth'H  On  thr  Intimations  r 
7T.    Burns'!  Cottrr's  Sat  urday  Night,  et. 
78.    Gold«mlth'»  Vicar  of  Wa'keflclrt.     /' 
7».    Lamb's  Old  China,  etc.     /VI/.T,  .1.1. 
K>.   Coleridge's    Ancient    Mariner,   etc   i    Campbell's     Lochlel'i    Warning, 

l-aprr    .15  i  /inrn,    2.1 
II.    HO. BIM's  Autoorat  a/th*  Breakfast- Table      I'uftr    V     luxw.  JO 


Hifcersfae  ^literature 


POEMS  AND  STORIES 


SELECTED  AND  EDITED  FOR  SCHOOLS  AND  COLLEGES 
WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

BY 

CHARLES   SWAIN  THOMAS,  A.M. 

Head  of  the  English  Department  in  the 
Newton  (Mass.)  High  School 


BOSTON  NEW  YORK  CHICAGO 

HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


Stack 
Annex 


CONTENTS 


PREFACE iii 

INTRODUCTION iv 


JOHN  BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG 1 

Tin:  UEVF.ILI.F, 1 

Ul   I.1KVINO    (lUARI) "> 

<>s   A   PEN  (IF  THOMAS  STARK  KINO (> 

. \NMVI    KSARY     PoF.M 7 

A  SANITARY  MF.SSAOK !• 

Cnu^riTA 11 

PLAIN     LANGUAGE    FHOM    TRUTHFUL    JA.MKS     (THE     HF.ATHEN 

CHINKF.) l.'i 

TlIK,    SoCIF.TY    fl'ON     1HK    STANISLAUS 1 .") 

A  (JuKYroKT  LE<;KND Hi 

SAN  FKAM  isco is 

THE  MOUNTAIN  HEAHT'S- EASE I'.i 

'I'o  A  SEA-HIKD -" 

WHAT  THE  ("HIMNKY  SANH L'l 

DICKFNS  IN  CAMP '-"- 

THE  MISSION  HKI.I.S  OF  MONTFKFY -'.'> 

THE  ANIII.U'S -I 

STORIES 


THE  LffK  OF  ROAKINO  ('AMI- 

THE  OUTCASTS  OF  POKER  FLAT      

TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

THE  ILIAD  OF  SANDY   I!AR 

How  SANTA  CLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S   I!AH 

NOTES,  COMMENTS.  AND  QUESTIONS    .     .     .     . 


(  OI'YKIGHT,     1^7:1,     HY     I   Il.l.IlS    OSGOOI)    A     (  (). 

COPYKIGHT,    1^71,    I$72    AND    l^~],    HY    (AMES    K.    OSGOOI)    A    CO. 

COPYRIGHT,    I'v^,    l^-'fi    AM'     litfi,    HY    IIKET    IIAKTK 

Cnl'VHIGMT,     Ii)02,     HY     HoriiHTON     MIKKLIN    *    CO. 

(  HPYKIGJIT,     IOI2,     HY    IlllUGIITON    MIPII.IN    CDMrANY 


CA.MI:K  IIK.I.  .  MASS  At  nusi/i  is 


StacK 
Annex 


PREFACE 


WHILE  Bret  Harte  has  been  famous  for  nearly  half  a 
century,  comparatively  few  students  of  the  present  genera 
tion  have  any  conception  of  the  amount  or  the  versatility 
of  his  writings.  His  collected  works  in  the  Riverside  Edi 
tion  comprise  nineteen  volumes,  and  embrace  sketches, 
essays,  short  stories,  novels,  poems,  and  one  drama.  In 
order  to  give  students  of  school  and  college  some  adequate 
idea  of  the  extent  and  variety  and  method  of  this  work,  this 
volume  of  selections  has  been  prepared.  It  is  hoped  that 
the  Introduction  and  the  Notes  will  suggest  further  reading 
and  thus  acquaint  the  student,  not  only  with  the  author's 
art,  but  also  with  the  incidents  and  characters  of  that  roman 
tic  civilization  of  California  which  is  rapidly  passing  away 
from  the  memory  of  the  living. 

For  the  biographical  data  of  the  Introduction  the  editor  is 
largely  indebted  to  Henry  ('.  Merwin's  Life  of  /irrt  JJartf. 

C.  S.  T. 

Newton,  Massachusetts, 
June,  1912. 


INTRODUCTION 


IF  we  were  asked  to  account  for  tlir  breadth  of  sympathy 
which  Piret  Hart*;  displayed  in  hi.-  life  and  writing,  we 
.should  undoubtedly  he  aided  in  our  answer  hy  tin.-  know 
ledge  that  his  paternal  grandfather  wa.-  a  .l"\v.  his  paternal 
grandmother  a  member  of  the  l>uteh  <  'hureh,  his  father  a 
Catholic,  and  his  mother  an  Fpisei  ipalian.  1  1  is  wide  e\  peri- 
eiire  in  travel,  both  at  holm-  and  abroad,  hi-  exten.-ive  ac 
quaintance  with  men  .if  various  rank-  —  from  the.  nmuhr-t 
miner  uf  the  |-';ir  \\c-t  tu  tin-  nm>t  i-uui'tly  and  the  most 
cultivated  men  of  America  and  <>f  Kurujic  —  all  this  helped 
toileepen  and  to  widen  this  cosmopolitan  attitude.  l>ccply 
immersed  as  lie  was  for  years  in  the  spirit  that  the  Fort  v- 
Xiners  created,  l'>ret  llaile  ne\  <-r  allowed  tin-,  provincialism 
of  his  surroundings  to  deaden  the.  force  of  this  liberal  sym 
pathy. 

Ancestry  and  Boyhood 

Francis  F.rett  Harte  —  such  was  his  baptismal  name  — 
was  born  in  Albany,  New  York,  nil  Aiiu'u.-t  L'.">,  iN.'Sii. 
\\'hen  as  a  voiiiir;  man  he  entered  upon  his  care-T  as  a  joiir- 
nali.-t  and  .-hort-story  writer,  he  dropped  the  Francis,  clipped 
the  tinal  /  from  I'.rett.and  won  renown  under  the  shortened 
name  of  I'.ret  Harte.  And  as  such  he  will  alwa\>  be  known. 

liret  Harte's  father's  name  was  Henry  Harte.  The  father- 
was  educated  at  I'nion  <  'olle^'e,  Scheiiectadv  .  and  became 
an  accomplished  scholar,  especially  proficient  as  a  linguist. 


INTRODUCTION  V 

He  married  Elizabeth  Rebecca  Ostrander,  a  member  of  a 
prominent  Dutch  family.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Harte  seem  to  have 
led  a  roving  and  unsettled  life.  Mr.  Harte  was,  at  the  time 
of  the  birth  of  Francis  Brett,  a  teacher  in  Albany,  where 
he  remained  three  or  four  years.  From  Albany  the  family 
went  to  Hudson,  New  York,  and  later  lived — generally  for 
short  periods  —  in  turn  at  New  Brunswick,  New  Jersey,  at 
Philadelphia,  at  Providence,  Lowell,  Boston,  and  elsewhere. 
Mr.  Harte  died  in  1845. 

At  the  time  of  his  father's  death  Francis  was  nine  years 
old,  —  the  youngest  of  four  children  —  two  daughters  and 
two  sons.  They,  with  their  mother,  lived  for  several  years 
in  New  York  and  Brooklyn,  supported  by  relatives.  Later 
all  except  the  elder  daughter  moved  to  California. 

Bret  Harte  attended  various  schools  up  to  his  thirteenth 
year  and  then  his  academic  life  ceased.  The  atmosphere  of 
his  father's  borne,  where  an  unerring  literary  taste  reigned, 
provided  his  richest  experience.  At  a  very  early  age  he  ac 
quired  a  fondness  for  Shakespeare  and  Froissart,  and  devel 
oped  his  liking  for  the  best  by  further  reading  in  Cervantes, 
Fielding,  Smollett,  Goldsmith,  Dickens,  and  Irving. 

On  the  Pacific  Slope,  1854-1871 

Soon  after  her  arrival  in  California  Mrs.  Harte  was  mar 
ried  to  Colonel  Andrew  Williams,  a  highly  cultivated  gentle 
man,  who  had  been  a  college  friend  of  her  former  husband. 
"With  his  mother  and  stepfather  Bret  Harte,  who  was  then 
eighteen,  lived  for  over  a  year,  occupying  part  of  his  time 
in  teaching  and  part  as  clerk  to  an  apothecary  in  San  Fran 
cisco. 

AVhen  Bret  Harte  left  Colonel  Williams's  house  in  1856 
he  was  twenty  years  old.  He  lirst  became  tutor  for  a 
family  at  Alamo.  Later  he  became  an  express  messenger 
on  stages  which  ran  between  Humboldt  Bay  and  Del  Norte, 
in  the  extreme  northern  portion  of  California  —  an  experi 
ence  which  finds  frequent  reflection  in  his  stories  —  partic 
ularly  in  the  famous  character  of  Yuba  Bill,  the  California 
stage-driver.  After  this  engagement  as  expressman,  Bret 
Harte  became  a  printer  at  Union,  California,  in  the  office 


VI  IN'TKOnn.TION 

of  the  ff//nifin/,/f  Tt'/nt'.t.  IFe  also  did  some  teaching,  and 
for  a  short  period  was  again  clerk  for  an  apothecary.  .lust 
before  his  return  to  San  Francisco  in  lXf>l>  lie  was  assistant 
editor  of  the  Xnrtlu'rti  California,  a.  paper  published  at 
Eureka. 

His  editorial  career  at  Eureka  had  an  abrupt  close.  The 
editor  hail  gone  away  and  had  left  Bret  I  larte  in  charge. 
During  the  unfortunate  absence  certain  white  men  near 
Eureka  had  inilicted  a  cowardly  massacre  upon  a  group  <>f 
Indians.  The  temporary  editor  scathingly  condemned  the 
outrage,  and  the  editorial  in  turn  violently  aroused  the  wrath 
of  the  American  community.  A  mob,  quickly  formed,  was 
intent  on  destroying  the  ollice  and  wreaking  vengeance  on 
the  writer.  Bret  Harte  armed  himself  to  meet  the  issue, 
and  on  the  night  of  the  expected  attack,  sat  at  his  desk  with 
loaded  pistols  within  easy  reach.  The  fortunate  arrival  of 
government  cavalry  averted  the  threatened  danger.  The 
regular  editor  on  his  return  to  Eureka  made  peace  with  his 
clit'utt'It"  by  immediately  dismissing  from  his  employ  the 
writer  of  the  offensive  article,  and  thus  left  Bret  I  larte  free 
to  return  to  the  safer  refuge  of  San  Francisco. 

This  was  in  1  S~>7.  The  fourteen  succeeding  years,  which 
ended  with  his  departure  to  the  East,  made  "Bret  Harte  the 
most  distinguished  literary  man  in  California.  His  writings 
during  these  years  of  distinctive  authorship,  while  they  an 
alyzed  in  trenchant  severity  the  rawness  of  that  mining 
period,  nevertheless  spread  over  the  entire  state  a  glamour 
which  charmingly  revealed  the  primitive  and  elemental  man 
hood  of  those  mining  pioneers.  Let  us  record  some  of  the 
successive  tasks  which  he  performed  and  some  of  the  suc 
cessful  triumphs  which  his  endeavor  won. 

When  Bret  Ilarte  returned  to  San  Francisco  in  lX.r>7  he 
secured  employment  as  typesetter  in  the  otlice  of  a  news 
paper —  the  (i<ililoi  Kru,  edited  by  an  amiable  gentleman 
named  Laurence.  But  the  young  man's  interest  was  not 
long  confined  to  mere  typesetting.  He  yearned  to  see  his 
own  productions  in  print.  This  pleasure  he  had  had  when  as 
a  lad  of  eleven  he  had  secretly  mailed  a  poem  —  Aufumnal 
Mnsinas —  to  the  Xcw  York  Sunday  Atlas  •  and  he  had 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

rejoiced  when  he  saw  this  poem  published  in  the  succeeding 
issue  of  that  paper.  His  work  on  the  Northern  Califor 
nia,  though  ending  in  local  ignominy,  had  nevertheless 
sharpened  Lis  talents  and  aroused  his  ambition.  Accord 
ingly  when  he  found  that  the  moments  transferred  from 
mechanical  to  creative  composition  met  with  editorial  encour 
agement,  he  grew  more  industrious  and  more  efficient.  He 
was  so  successful  that  he  was  soon  given  a  desk  in  the  edi 
torial  room,  and  thus  he  began  in  earnest  his  career  as  an 
author.  The  Golden  Era,  fortunately,  was  not  merely  a 
purveyor  of  news  —  its  instincts  were  literary  as  well.  In 
its  pages  were  published  many  of  those  sketches  later  pre 
served  in  Bret  Harte's  collected  works  —  In  a  Balcony,  A 
Boy's  Dog,  Sidewalkings,  and  the  earlier  Condensed  Novels. 

Feeling  now  assured  of  a  reliable  income,  Bret  Harte 
married  in  1862  Miss  Anna  Griswold,  whose  parents  lived 
in  ISTew  York  City.  To  this  union  four  children  were  born, 
two  sons,  Griswold  and  Francis  King,  and  two  daughters, 
Jessemy  and  Ethel. 

Two  years  after  his  marriage,  Bret  Harte  was  appointed 
secretary  of  the  California  Mint.  This  position  he  held  for 
six  years,  and  as  his  duties  were  not  arduous  he  was  able  all 
the  while  to  continue  his  literary  work.  In  1867  he  pub 
lished  a  volume  of  poems,  the  Condensed  Novels,  and  his 
Bohemian  Papers. 

In  1868  Anton  Roman,  a  San  Francisco  bookseller, 
founded  the  Overland  Monthly  and  asked  Bret  Harte  to 
become  the  editor.  To  the  initial  number  Bret  Harte  con 
tributed  two  poems, —  San  Francisco  and  The  Return  of 
Belisarius.  The  second  number  was  the  more  significant, 
for  it  contained  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp,  which  won 
the  attention  of  James  T.  Fields,  who  invited  Mr.  Harte  to 
write  for  the  Atlantic  Monthly  a  story  in  the  same  vein. 

Perhaps  the  production  which  contributed  most  to  Bret 
Harte's  fame  was  Plain  Language  from  Truthful  James, 
more  commonly  entitled  The  Heathen  Chinee.  This  poem 
immediately  caught  the  popular  ear  and  was  universally 
quoted.  The  author's  attitude  toward  this  effort  is  proof 
of  his  critical  discernment,  for  he  set  little  store  by  it. 


viii  INTRODUCTION 

Indeed  ho  at  first  refused  it  a  place  in  the  Overland,  aiid 
finally  published  it  only  when  strongly  urged  by  Ambrose 
liierco  and  other  friends  whose  literary  judgment  he  val 
ued.  The  poem  still  has  currency,  due  tar  limn-  to  its  ac 
quired  momentum  than  to  its  inherent  literary  value,  though 
its  satire  and  its  cleverness  are  obvious. 

Among  Bivt  Hartc's  many  friends  of  this  period  were 
Thomas  Starr  King,  whose  devotion  to  the  North  helped  to 
save  California  to  the  l.'nion;  Mrs.  Jessie  Benton  Fivmont, 
wife  of  John  C.  Fremont;  Charles  N.  Stoddard,  the  author, 
and  Mark  Twain,  who  was  then  a  reporter  on  the  Mnrnimj 
Cull  and  who  was  just  coming  into  public  notice. 

Bret  Harte  has  written  his  early  impression  of  Mark 
Twain's  powers  as  a  story-teller  as  revealed  in  one  of  the  hit 
ter's  earlier  visits  :  — 

"  In  the  course  of  the  conversation  he  remarked  that  the 
unearthly  laziness  that  prevailed  in  the  town  he  had  been 
visiting  was  beyond  anything  in  his  previous  experience. 
He  said  the  men  did  nothing  all  day  long  but  sit  around 
the  barroom  stove,  spit,  and  'swop  lies.'  He  spoke  in  a 
low  satiric  drawl,  which  was  in  itself  irresistible.  He  went 
on  to  tell  one  of  those  extravagant  stories,  and  half  uncon 
sciously  dropped  into  the  la/.y  tone  and  manner  of  the  orig 
inal  narrator.  I  asked  him  to  tell  it  again  to  a  friend  who 
came  in,  and  then  asked  him  to  write  it  out  for  the  Cn/i- 
fornian.  He  did  so,  and  when  published  it  was  an  emphatic 
success.  It  was  the  first  work  of  his  that  had  attracted 
general  attention,  and  it  crossed  the  Sierras  for  an  Eastern 
reading.  The  story  was  The  ,Jnini/in<j  Frmj  »f  ('a/, //v/v/.s-. 
It  is  now  known  and  laughed  over,  I  suppose,  wherever 
th'>  English  language  is  spoken,  but  it  will  never  he  as 
funny  to  any  one  in  print  as  it  was  to  me.  told  for  the.  first 
time  by  the  unknown  Twain  himself  on  that  morning  in  the 
San  Francisco  Mint." 

There  are  many  other  incidents  in  Bret  Harte's  Califor 
nia  experience  on  which  the  biographer  would  willingly 
pans*;,  for  he  does  not  weary  of  them  as  Bret  Harte  himself 
wearied  of  them. 

Such  weariness  on   Bret   Harte's   part  was  obviously  not 


INTRODUCTION  ix 

due  to  any  lack  of  prosperity  or  of  friendly  appreciation  ;  for 
his  fame  was  firmly  established.  He  was  recognized  every 
where  as  the  skillful  literary  exponent  of  California  life ;  he 
still  maintained  his  profitable  secretaryship  at  the  Mint ;  he 
was  a  member  of  the  English  faculty  at  the  University  of 
California,  the  Editor  of  the  successful  Overland,  and  the 
centre  of  a  most  congenial  coterie.  But  voices  urgent  and 
alluring  were  calling  him,  and  in  February,  1871,  he  took 
final  leave  of  a  city  and  a  society  whose  varied  phases  he  had 
so  vividly  portrayed.  The  eight  intimate  friends  —  all  fel 
low  craftsmen  —  who  gave  him  his  farewell  dinner  later  had 
keenly  to  regret  the  complete  severance  of  these  ties,  for 
Mr.  Harte  was  averse  to  letter-writing  and  in  the  future 
months  and  years  there  was  almost  no  communication  be 
tween  them.  In  leaving  California,  however,  Bret  Harte 
took  with  him  the  memory  of  the  gigantic  coarseness  and 
the  elemental  virtues  of  that  pioneer  life  which  was  to  be 
the  inspiration  for  many  a  future  sketch  and  story. 

On  the  Atlantic  Coast  —  1871-1878 

Bret  Harte' s  objective  destination  was  New  York,  though 
he  stopped  at  Chicago  where  a  group  of  men  had  hoped  to 
induce  him  to  accept  the  editorship  of  the  Lakeside  Monthly. 
Bret  Ilarte  evidently  was  not  much  interested  in  the  pro 
ject,  for  he  carelessly  broke  his  promise  to  meet  the  promo 
ters  at  the  dinner  which  had  been  arranged  for  him.  He 
hurried  on  to  New  York  to  the  home  of  his  sister,  Mrs.  F. 
F.  Knaufft,  where,  during  the  next  two  years,  he  and  his 
family  remained,  except  for  occasional  visits  elsewhere. 

Soon  after  his  arrival  in  New  York  he  went  with  his  wife 
and  children  to  Boston,  or  rather  to  Cambridge,  to  be  the 
guests  for  a  week  at  the  home  of  W.  D.  Howells,  at  that 
time  assistant  editor  of  the  Atlantic  Monthly.  In  Cam 
bridge  and  in  Boston  Bret  Harte  was  most  cordially  re 
ceived.  He  met  Lowell,  Emerson,  Longfellow,  and  m'any 
other  literary  men  of  that  group.  He  seems  to  have  been 
a  bit  disappointed  in  Boston  ;  the  transfer  from  the  crude 
and  unconventional  life  of  the  California  redwood  forest  and 
San  Francisco  Bohemianism  to  the  refinements  of  Harvard 


X  INTRODUCTION 

College  and  of  Beacon  Hill  was  perhaps  too  sudden  to  pro- 
vent  a  certain  vague  confusion  of  culture  and  hypocrisy. 
The  visit,  however,  was  a  financial  success;  it  was  at  least 
partially  responsible  for  the  contract  he  later  made  with 
James  K.  Osgood  and  Company,  then  publishers  of  the  At 
lantic  M»»f /////,  by  which  they  agreed  to  pay  Bret  Ilarte 
$10. 000  for  whatever  stories  or  poems  he  would  write  for 
them  during  the  ensuing  year.  The  stories  written  and 
published  under  this  agreement  were:  Tin'  I'mt  «f  Sierra 
Flat,  I'rinci'ss  Hub  and  JUT  Frieiuh,  Tlic  Romance  rif  the 
Madrono  Jfol/oir,  and  Ifoir  Smita  Claux  Came  to  S'unjt- 
son's  liar.  Besides  these  were  the  poems:  A  (irc>/)>ort 
Li'i/end,  A  Xc>/'j/ort  Romance,  Conccpcion  de  ArtjneHo, 
(irandmothi'r  Tt-nterdrn,  and  The  Idi/l  nf  I'attl^  IIolluv. 

The  next  seven  years  of  Bret  Harte's  life — from  February, 
1S71,  when  he  arrived  in  Xew  York,  to  June,  1S7S,  when 
he  departed  for  Crefeld,  Prussia,  whey  he  was  to  lie  I'nited 
States  Commercial  Agent — were  spent  largely  in  New 
York.  He  lived  at  various  times  in  Newport;  Morristown, 
New  ,Iei>ey  ;  New  London.  Connecticut;  Cohasset.  Massa 
chusetts,  and  Sea  Cliff,  Long  Island.  A  portion  of  his 
time  he  spent  in  lecturing,  journeying  as  far  west  as  St. 
Louis.  He  was  chiefly  occupied,  however,  in  writing  nov 
els,  short  stories,  sketches,  poems,  and  plays. 

Notwithstanding  the  high  prices  he,  received  for  much  »f 
this  material,  he  was  temperamentally  unfit  to  manage  his 
funds  judiciously;  continued  financial  troubles,  therefore, 
came  tu  him  and  his  family.  Always  harassed  by  debt  and 
habitually  restive  under  the  lack  of  ready  money,  he  was 
glad  to  accept  from  1 'resident  Hayes  the  Crefeld  appointment, 
which  his  influential  friends  secured  for  him.  Leaving  his 
family  at  Sea  Cliff,  he  sailed  in  .June,  1S7S.  and  never  re 
turned  to  America.  So  far  as  the  world  knows  it  was  also 
the  linal  parting  with  his  wife,  though  the  cause  of  the  sep 
aration  has.  fortunately,  never  been  disclosed. 

Consular  Service  —  1878-1885 

\\hen  Bret  Harte  first  landed  in  Crefeld,  he  keenly  felt 
the  loneliness  of  his  situation.  However,  he  was  somewhat 


INTRODUCTION  XI 

cheered  one  day  as  he  was  passing  a  bookstore  to  catch  sight 
of  a  volume  bearing  the  familiar  name  of  Bret  Harte.  Ex 
amination  showed  it  to  be  a  German  translation  of  selected 
stories,  and  the  sight  of  this  helped  to  dissipate  his  feeling 
of  isolation. 

Bret  Harte's  official  duties  as  Consul  seem  to  have  been 
performed  with  reasonable  satisfaction,  but  he  never  ac 
quired  any  genuine  affection  for  the  place  or  for  the  work. 
He  was  lonely  ;  his  health  was  not  robust ;  he  was  hampered 
by  a  limited  knowledge  of  the  German  language  ;  and  he 
finally  sought  relief  from  the  tedium  in  a  rather  extended 
vacation  in  England. 

His  main  purpose  in  going  to  England  was  to  meet  James 
Anthony  Fronde,  the  noted  historian  and  essayist.  The  two 
became  fast  friends,  and  Harte  remained  for  some  time  a 
guest  in  Froude's  home.  While  in  England  he  brought  out 
a  volume  of  stories  and  poems,  and  also  delivered  several 
successful  lectures. 

Mr.  Merwin,  in  his  life  of  Bret  Harte,  names  the  follow 
ing  as  the  product  of  the  author's  two-years'  residence 
in  Crefeld  :  A  Legend  of  Sammstadt,  The  Indiscretion 
of  Elsleth,  Views  from  a  German  Spion,  and  Unser 
Karl. 

In  1880,  Bret  Harte,  at  his  request  for  a  transfer,  was 
appointed  to  the  consulship  at  Glasgow,  where  the  salary 
was  larger,  and  where  life  was  more  congenial  to  the  author's 
taste.  He  was,  however,  frequently  drawn  down  to  Lon 
don,  for  which  city  he  had  acquired  a  strong  predilection. 
Notwithstanding  these  frequent  visits  he  seems  to  have  sat 
isfied  the  Government  at  Washington  that  he  was  doing  his 
work  satisfactorily,  though  rumors  reached  the  Department 
that  he  was  too  often  absent  from  his  post. 

His  work  as  an  author  went  steadily  onward,  and  he  was 
likewise  able  to  make  some  literary  friendships.  His  most 
noted  friends  were  the  two  novelists,  William  Black  and 
Walter  Besant. 

Bret  Harte  held  the  consulship  at  Glasgow  until  1885. 
The  defeat  of  the  Republican  party  and  the  election  of 
Grover  Cleveland  forced  his  retirement. 


Xll  INTRODUCTION 

Residence  in  London  —  1885-1902 

r>n-t  I  larte  ha.?  been  criticized  for  not  returning  to  America. 
Doubtless  lie  might  have  done  so  after  being  relieved  of  his 
consular  ]>".-t  in  (Jlasgow.  There  may  have  been  family 
reasons;  his  ,-econd  son  had  married  in  Kngland  and  settled 
in  a  home  where  the  father  was  a  frequent  vi.-iti>r:  perhaps 
he  felt  that  his  literary  work  in  Kngland  mi;_rht  he  more  re 
munerative;  it  may  be  that  he  was  strongly  held  bv  the 
glamor  of  London  and  the  friendships  of  Londoners.  What 
ever  the  reason,  we  may  kno\v  that  it  was  not  berau.-e  of 
any  lack  of  jiatrii  lie  devotion  to  the  land  of  his  birth,  for 
he  was  always  a  strong  defender  of  America  and  of  Ameri 
can  ideals.  Hut  to  the  day  of  his  death  he  persistently 
kept  his  residence  in  England,  not  even  returning  to  visit 
his  relatives  or  those  friends  of  his  who  had  rejoiced  at  his 
earlier  successes.  He  seems  to  have  been  temperamentally 
averse  to  going  ba>.:k  and  picking  up  the  dropped  threads  of 
the  past. 

During  the  lir>t  ten  years  of  his  life  in  London  —  from 
ISST)  to  IS'.).")  —  he,  made  his  home  with  M.  Arthur  and 
Mine.  Van  do  Yelde,  friends  who  had  been  first  attracted 
to  him  by  the  admiration  they  had  for  his  literary  work. 
1  Ie  remained  with  them  until  the  death  of  M.  Van  de  Yelde, 
and  then  engaged  rooms  at  74  Lancaster  (late.  Here  he 
kept  his  lodgings  until  his  death  in  1  !>()!'. 

He  had  many  friends  in  Kngland  who  freely  extended  to 
him  their  hospitality.  lie  sought  mild  forms  of  diversion, 
part  of  the  time  in  traveling  on  the  Continent;  but  he 
found  his  highest  joy  in  his  work — -interested  in  the  com 
panionship  of  the  new  characters  he  was  all  the  time  creat 
ing,  but  more  fascinated  by  the  company  of  such  old  associ 
ates  as  Jack  Handin  and  Colonel  Starbottle.  He  grew  to 
love  Ins  art,  and  to  it  lie  was  glad  to  devote  his  patiently 
imremit t iir_f  endcavi >r. 

During  the.  last  months  of  his  life  Ilret  Harte  was  trou 
bled  greatly  by  cancer  of  the  throat.  A  surgical  operation 
gave  only  temporary  relief.  He  kept  valiantly  at  his  work. 
One  day  in  April,  1 !)()!',  he  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and 


.INTRODUCTION  xiii 

wrote  the  beginning  of  a  new  tale  of  Colonel  Starbottle, 
but  this  he  was  never  to  finish.  He  lingered  until  May  5, 
when  he  was  suddenly  attacked  with  a  severe  hemorrhage 
of  the  throat  and  died  a  few  hours  later.  The  only  persons 
at  his  bedside  were  his  physicians,  Mine.  Van  de  Velde,  and 
her  servants.  His  wife  and  children  were  in  attendance  at 
his  funeral  a  few  days  later. 

Critical  Estimate 

The  Puritan  temperament  is  not  likely  to  grant  full  jus 
tice  to  Bret  Harte's  work,  for  Bret  Harte  admits  to  his 
pages  themes  which  a  punctilious  nature  would  reject.  In 
depicting  the  wild  and  brutally  immoral  life  of  the  western 
mining-camp  he  painted  things  as  they  were  ;  and  his  real 
ism —  tinctured  always  with  idealism  —  required  the  vivid 
portrayal  of  the  criminal  act  and  the  liberal  use  of  the  un- 
chastened  epithet.  Such  acts  loom  so  large  and  such  epithets 
roar  so  loud  that  the  over-scrupulous  retreat  in  quick  alarm. 

Should  these  critics  read  more  deeply  they  would  dis 
cover  that  the  author  had  conceived  his  task  to  be  that  of 
the  truthful  teller  of  a  truthful  tale,  and  that  his  word 
must  therefore  be  cousin  to  the  deed.  He  himself  is  an 
unimpassioned  witness  ;  he  stands  aloof  —  not  uninterested, 
not  unsympathetic — but  certainly  not  a  canting  moralist 
who  is  portraying  the  redness  of  vice  in  order  to  warn  evil 
doers  from  the  mouth  of  hell-gate.  If  virtue  triumphs,  it 
triumphs  not  because  it  may  point  a  moral,  but  because  it 
may  adorn  a  tale.  You  may  not  like  the  ethics,  but  you 
should  admit  the  art. 

Furthermore,  you  will  usually  find  on  close  examination 
that  the  ethics  is  sound.  The  charm  of  the  story  is  often, 
as  in  Tin1  Lurk  of  Rnnrlmj  Camp,  the  diffusing  essence  of 
a  barbaric  tenderness,  which  a  grim  and  profane  exterior 
cannot  encase.  It  comes  out  surely,  though  unostenta 
tiously.  Or  it  may  be,  as  in  Tennessee's  Partner,  an  abid 
ing  sense  of  loyalty  —  friend  to  friend  —  that  is  all  tho 
more  engaging  because  it  is  so  manifestly  unpretentious,  — 
performed  as  a  matter  of  course  without  thought  of  virtuous 
doing  and  apparently  without  struggle.  Indeed  one  of  the 


Xiv  INTRODUCTION 

marked  traits  in  most  of  the  diameters  that  I'.ret  Ilarte  has 
made  famous,  is  what  I  may  rail  their  intuitive  act.  Colo 
nel  Starbottle,  Jack  Hainlin,  Mr.  Oakhurst,  Dr.  Duchesi.e 
—  cai'li  performs  uiKjuestioningly  in  all  his  varied  >ituatiniis 
the  deed  which  a  certain  grim  fatalitv  seems  to  exact  with 
an  unanalv/ed  hut  predetermined  nicety.  Their  thoughts 
and  acts  are  \veirdly  direct.  They  may  he  moral,  immoral 
or  unmoral;  hut  their  reaction  is  immediate. 

Of  other  characters,  however,  this  is  not  always  so.  In 
one  of  the,  very  best  of  the  later  stories —  /,/;;'/  Out  mi  Lmtf 
St'ir  Mountain  —  we  see  .John  Ford,  the  attractive  young 
prospector,  in  a  moment  of  wavering,  tempted  to  appropri 
ate  to  himself  a  mass  of  virgin  gold  which  is  legally  his,  but 
which  rightfully  belongs  jointly  to  him  and  his  four  part 
ners.  The  moral  victory  is  gained,  and  .John  Ford  hurries 
away  to  call  hack  bis  deserting  partners  to  share  the  new 
found  vein  which  a  sudden  slide  had  disclosed.  The  moral 
victory  is  no  less  great  because  of  the  fact  that  on  their  re 
turn  they  tind  that  a  second  slide  has  carried  the  treasure 
completely  away  and  again  left  them  destitute. 

Chesterton  and  other  critics  have  pointed  out  that  ]'>ret 
Harte's  humor  is  of  the  minimizing  sort,  whereas  American 
humor  is  of  the  exaggerating  sort.  l>ret  TIarte  tells  in  77/r 
ftorii'fi/  iijinn  tin'  Stanislaus  of  the  row  that  interrupted  an 
evening's  program  of  their  literary  society  and  killed,  or  at 
least  rendered  unconscious,  one  Aimer  Dean:  — 

Then  Abner  Dean  of  Angel's  raised  a  point  of  order,  when 
A  chunk  of  old  red  sandstone  took  him  in  the  abdomen, 
And  h"  smiled  a  kind  of  sickly  smile,  and  curled  up  on  1  lie  floor. 
And  the  subsequent  proceeding  interested  him  no  more. 

This  last  line  i>  of  course  an  absurd  understatement,  but 
it  is  so  markedlv  understated  that  the  real  truth  is  as  obvi 
ously  wrenched  as  if  it  were  greatly  exaggerated.  Really 
the  humors  are  not  of  two  tvpes;  they  are  variant.--  of  the, 
same  type.  Bret  Harte  generally  prefers  the  quiet  smile 
that  such  minimi/ing  provokes. 

A  prevailing  element  of  charm  in  humor  is  its  unexpect 
edness —  an  unlooked-for  turn.  Colonel  Starbottle  is  very 


INTRODUCTION  xv 

much  disgusted  at  the  way  a  certain  dispute  is  carried  on 
between  two  miners.  He  characterized  it  as  "  a  fuss  that 
gentlemen  might  have  settled  in  ten  minutes  over  a  social 
glass,  ef  they  meant  business  ;  or  in  ten  seconds  with  a  re 
volver,  ef  they  meant  fun." 

These  same  miners  —  York  and  Scott  —  kept  up  a  long 
dispute.  They  became  rival  candidates  for  the  California 
Legislature,  and  the  two  former  friends  and  partners  engaged 
in  a  bitter  mud-slinging  campaign.  York  delivered  his  first 
philippic  to  a  crowd  in  which  Scott  was  an  interested  list 
ener.  Scott's  past  was  mercilessly  exposed.  When  York 
finished,  Scott  was  pushed  to  the  platform  :  — 

As  his  frowsy  head  and  unkempt  beard  appeared  above  the 
railing,  it  was  evident  that  he  was  drunk.  But  it  was  also  evi 
dent,  before  he  opened  his  lips,  that  the  orator  of  Sandy  Bar 
.  .  .  stood  before  them.  A  consciousness  of  this  power  lent 
a  certain  dignity  to  his  figure.  ..."  There  \s  naught,  gentle 
men,"  said  Scott,  leaning  forward  on  the  railing,  —  "  there  's 
naught  as  that  man  hez  said  as  is  n't  true.  I  was  run  outer 
Cairo ;  I  did  belong  to  the  Regulators ;  I  did  desert  from  the 
army  ;  I  did  leave  a  wife  in  Kansas.  But  there  's  one  thing  he 
didn't  charge  me  with,  and  maybe  he  's  forgotten.  For  three 
years,  gentlemen,  I  was  that  man's  partner." 

This  element  of  humor,  occurring  again  and  again  in  the 
speeches  of  Yuba  Bill,  Jack  Hamlin,  Colonel  Starbottle, 
Truthful  James,  and  others  has  been  generally  recognized  as 
an  element  in  Bret  Harte  distinctly  characteristic,  but  the 
beauty  of  Bret  Harte's  language  has  received  scant  notice. 
Perhaps  this  may  be  explained  by  the  fact  that  he  has  had 
few  critics,  and  that  his  readers  have  for  the  most  part  been 
hasty  in  their  pursuit  of  story  ;  they  have  read  principally 
for  the  pleasure  of  plot  and  situation  and  not  for  the  pleasure 
of  style.  Yet  to  one  who  reads  leisurely,  the  perception 
of  this  sense  of  language-beauty  is  as  gratifying  as  it  is 
obvious.  AVho  of  our  great  masters  of  prose  style  could 
have  written  a  better  description  than  the  one  which  nar 
rates  the  passage  of  that  crude  funeral  cart  which  carried  the 
body  of  Tennessee's  partner  from  the  gallows  to  the  grave  ?  1 

1  See  page  60. 


XVI  INTKOITCTION 

More  softly  melodious  though  not  so  trenchantly  vivid  is 
that  paragraph  in  The  (httruxfn  uf  I'nki-r  /•'/<//  which  de- 
scrihes  the  death-surroundings  of  innocent  I'iney  Woods 

and  the  sin-stained  Duchess.1 

Marked  as  is  the  melody  of  hi.-  pro.-r,  the  quality  is  even 
more  oliviou.s  in  his  verse.  His  sense  of  rhythm  is  so  per 
fect  that  it  dues  not  desert  him  even  when  he  allows  the, 
rough  miners  of  the  camp  to  voice  their  thoughts,  dramatic 
ally  in  the  crude  dialect  of  the  Furty-Niners.  In  addition 
to  the  faultless  rhythm,  there  is  a  skilled  assembling  of  vo- 
ealic  and  consonantal  ell'ects  that  gives  a  satisfying  sense  of 
melody  and  harmony.  This  is  beautifully  wrought  out  in 
one  of  the  lyrics  of  <'<tdet  <lre>/. 

NOT  YET 

Not  yet,  ()  friend,  not  yet!  the  jiatitnt  stars 
Lean  from  their  lattices,  content  tn  wait. 
All  in  illusion  till  the  morninr/  f/nrs 
SHj)  from  the  lerels  of' the  J^nsli  rn  //ate. 
Nil/lit  is  Ion  younif,  0  friend  .'  tin//  is  tun  mar  ; 
Wait  for  the  day  that  ntaketh  all  thimjs  clear. 
Not  yet,  0  friend,  not  >jet .' 

Nut  yet,  <>  lure,  tmt  yet!  all  is  nut  true, 
All  is  not  erer  as  it  siemtth  nmr. 
Soon  shall  the  riri  r  take  another  /'hie. 
Soon  dies  y<>n  l/i/lit  '//«•//  /lie  mountain  ?>rn>r. 
\Yhat  Helti  dark,  <)  love,  l,ri,jl,t  da;/  will  Jill  : 
\Vntt  fur  tin/  tnnrnnttf,  fie  it  <j<md  or  til. 
Not  ij>t,  <>  l»ft<,  not  ;/,t  .' 

Some  critics  have  commented  upon  I'.ret  Ilarte's  jiagan- 
ism,  his  aloofness  from  the  sense  of  mystery,  and  his  spirit 
ual  imliU'erence.  This  censure  is  not  ipiite  deserved,  and 
any  reader  of  such  of  his  poems  as  Itt'licviny  (iimrd  or 
The,  Aii'/ehix  will  see  why  it  is  not  deserved.  He  does 
not,  to  be  sure,  dwell  lung  on  the  mystery  of  human  life. 
No  une  would  call  him  a  mystic,  or  a  "subtle  asserter  of 
the  soul/'  but  he  has  written  enough  to  prove  that  his  sou) 

l  See  p.  50. 


INTRODUCTION 

did,  at  times,  throb  in  unison  with  the  highest  of  high 
themes.  That  lie  chose  other  chords  for  his  more  constant 
music  does,  however,  suggest  a  lack  of  abundant  spiritual 
resource.  His  habitual  realm  of  art  was  circumscribed. 

This  fact  helps  us  to  prophesy  concerning  the  relative 
rank  of  his  poetry  and  his  short  stories.  Great  poetry  de 
mands  a  more  constant  lingering  upon  spiritual  themes  and  a 
more  habitual  voicing  of  the  haunting  of  mystery  and  "  high 
seriousness."  Stories  may  or  may  not  breathe  the  softer 
strains  of  such  indwelling.  Certainly  they  do  not  demand 
it.  We  may  say,  then,  that  Bret  Harte  lacks  in  the  habit 
of  thought  the  one  great  requisite  for  great  poetry.  On  the 
other  hand,  he  lacks  none  of  the  art-demands  of  the  short 
story.  The  power  of  immediate  entry,  keen  conception  of 
character  and  situation,  skill  in  staging  the  action,  ability 
to  move  his  characters  toward  and  away,  a  faultless  sense  of 
humor  and  of  pathos,  a  deft  selection  of  the  inevitable  word 
—  all  these  he  lias  and  has  in  abundant  reserve.  It  is  cer 
tain  that  as  we  study  his  writings  we  shall  eventually  come 
to  respect  the  persisting  talent  revealed  in  his  verse  and  to 
admire  the  flashes  of  genius  revealed  in  his  stories. 


POEMS 

JOHN    BURNS    OF    GETTYSBURG 

HAVE  you  heard  the  story  that  gossips  tell 

Of  Burns  of  Gettysburg?  —  No  ?    Ah,  well : 

Brief  is  the  glory  that  hero  earns, 

Briefer  the  story  of  poor  John  Burns. 

He  was  the  fellow  who  won  renown,  —  5 

The  only  man  who  didn't  back  down 

When  the  rebels  rode  through  his  native  town  j 

But  held  his  own  in  the  fight  next  day, 

When  all  his  townsfolk  ran  away. 

That  was  in  July  sixty-three,  10 

The  very  day  that  General  Lee, 

Flower  of  Southern  chivalry, 

Baffled  and  beaten,  backward  reeled 

From,  a  stubborn  Meade  and  a  barren  field. 

I  might  tell  how  but  the  day  before  15 

John  Burns  stood  at  his  cottage  door, 

Looking  down  the  village  street, 

Where,  in  the  .shade  of  his  peaceful  vine, 

He  heard  the  low  of  his  gathered  kine, 

And  felt  their  breath  with  incense  sweet ;  20 

Or  I  might  say,  when  the  sunset  burned 

The  old  farm  gable,  he  thought  it  turned 

The  milk  that  fell  like  a  babbling  flood 

Into  the  milk-pail  red  as  blood  ! 

Or  how  he  fancied  the  hum  of  boos  25 

WTere  bullets  buzzing  among  the  trees. 

But  all  such  fanciful  thoughts  as  these 

WTere  strange  to  a  practical  man  like  Burns, 


JOHN    BURNS    OF    CKTTYSUUKG 

Who  minded  only  his  own  concerns, 

Troubled  no  more  by  fancies  line  30 

Than  one  of  his  calm-eyed,  long-tailed  kine, — 

Quite  old-fashioned  and  matter-of-fact, 

Slow  to  argue,  but  quick  to  act. 

That  was  the  reason,  as  .soiuc  folk  say, 

He  fought  so  well  on  that  terrible  day.  35 

And  it  was  terrible.    On  the-  right 

Raged  for  hours  the  heady  tight, 

Thundered  the  battery's  double  bass,  — 

Pitlicult  music  for  men  to  face  ; 

While  on  the  left  —  where  now  the  graves  40 

Vndulate  like  the  living  waves 

That  all  that  day  unceasing  swept 

l"p  to  the  pits  the  rebels  kept  — 

Round  shot  ploughed  the  upland  glades, 

Sown  with  bullets,  reaped  with  blades;  45 

Shattered  fences  here  and  there 

Tossed  their  splinters  in  the  air; 

The  very  trees  were  stripped  and  bare  ; 

The  barns  that  once  held  yellow  grain 

Were  heaped  with  harvests  of  the  slain  ;  50 

The  rattle  bellowed  on  the  plain. 

The  turkeys  screamed  with  might  and  main, 

And  brooding  barn-fowl  left  their  rest 

With  strange  shells  bursting  in  each  nest. 

Just  where  the  tide  of  battle  turns,  56 

Krect  and  lonely  stood  old  John  Hums. 

How  do  you  think  the  man  was  dressed  ? 

He  wore  an  ancient  long  huff  vest, 

Yellow  as  saffron.  — but  his  best  ; 

And  buttoned  over  his  manly  breast  00 

\\'as  a  bright  bbie  coat,  with  a  rolling  collar, 

And  large  gilt  button.-,—  bi/e  of  n  dollar,— 


JOHN    BURNS    OF    GETTYSBURG  3 

With  tails  that  the  country-folk  called  "  swaller." 

He  wore  a  broad-brimmed,  bell-crowned  hat, 

White  as  the  locks  on  which  it  sat.  65 

Xever  had  such  a  sight  been  seen 

For  forty  years  on  the  village  green, 

Since  old  John  Burns  was  a  country  beau, 

And  went  to  the  "'  mailings"  long  ago. 

Close  at  his  elbows  all  that  day,  70 

Veterans  of  the  Peninsula, 
Sunburnt  and  bearded,  charged  away  ; 
And  striplings,  downy  of  lip  and  chin,  — 
Clerks  that  the  Home  Guard  mustered  in,  — 
Glanced,  as  they  passed,  at  the  hat  he  wore,  75 

Then  at  the  ride  his  right  hand  bore, 
And  hailed  him,  from  out  their  youthful  lore, 
With  scraps  of  a  slangy  repertoire  : 
"How  are  you,  White  Hat  ?  "  "  Put  her  through  !  " 
"  Your  head's  level !  "  and  "  Bully  for  you  !  "  80 

Called  him  "  Daddy,"  — begged  he'd  disclose 
The  name  of  the  tailor  who  made  his  clothes, 
And  what  was  the  value  he  set  on  those ; 
While  Burns,  unmindful  of  jeer  and  scoff, 
Stood  there  picking  the  rebels  off,  —  85 

With  his  long  brown  rifle  and  bell-crown  hat, 
And  the  swallow-tails  they  were  laughing  at. 

'T  was  hut  a  moment,  for  that  respect 

Which  clothes  all  courage  their  voices  checked; 

And  something  the  wildest  could  understand  90 

Spake  in  the  old  man's  strong  right  hand, 

And  his  corded  throat,  and  the  lurking  frown 

Of  his  eyebrows  under  his  old  bell-crown  ; 

Until,  as  they  gazed,  there  crept  in  awe 

Through  the  ranks  in  whispers,  and  some  men  saw,      95 

In  the  antique  vestments  and  long  white  hair, 


4  THE    KEVF.ILLE 

The  Past  of  (ho  Nation  in  battle  there  ; 

And  some  of  the  soldiers  since  declare 

That  the  gleam  of  his  old  white  hat  afar, 

Like  the  crested  plume,  of  the  hrave  Navarre,  100 

That  day  was  their  oritlamme  of  war. 

So  rag.-d  the  hattle.      You  kno\v  the  rest  : 

How  the  rebels,  heaten  and  backward  pressed, 

llroke  at  the  final  charge  and  ran. 

At  which  .John  JUirns — a  practical  man —  105 

Shouldered  his  riile,  unhent  his  brows, 

And  then  went  back  to  his  bees  and  cows. 

That  is  the  story  of  old  John  Hums; 

This  is  the  moral  the  reader  learns  : 

In  fighting  the  hattle,  the  question's  whether  110 

You  '11  show  a  hat  that 's  white,  or  a  feather! 

THE    REVEILLE 

HARK  !    I  hear  the  tramp  of  thousands, 

And  of  armed  men  the  hum  ; 
Lo  !    a  nation's  hosts  have  gathered 
Kound  the  quick  alarming  drum,  — 

Saying,  "  Come,  5 

Freemen,  come  ! 
Ere  your  heritage  be  wasted, "said  the  quick  alarming  drum. 

"  Let  me  of  mv  heart  take  counsel: 

War  is  not  of  life  the  sum  ; 

AY  ho  shall  stay  and  reap  the  harvest  10 

\Vhen  the  autumn  days  shall  come  ?  " 
lint  the  drum 
Echoed,   "  Come  ! 

Death    shall    reap    the   braver   harvest,"    said  the    solemn- 
soundiiif'  drum. 


RELIEVING   GUARD  5 

"But  when  won  the  coming  battle,  15 

What  of  profit  springs  therefrom  ? 
What  if  conquest,  subjugation, 
Even  greater  ills  become  ?  " 
But  the  drum 

Answered,  "Come!  20 

You  must  do  the  sum  to  prove  it,"  said  the  Yankee-answer 
ing  drum. 

"  What  if,  'mid  the  cannon's  thunder, 

Whistling  shot  and  bursting  bomb, 
When  my  brothers  fall  around  me, 

Should  my  heart  grow  cold  and  numb  ?  "      25 
But  the  drum 
Answered,  "  Come  ! 

Better  there  in  death  united,  than  in  life   a  recreant.  — 
Come  !  " 

Thus  they  answered,  —  hoping,  fearing, 

Some  in  faith,  and  doubting  some,  30 

Till  a  trumpet-voice  proclaiming, 
Said,  "My  chosen  people,  come!" 
Then  the  drum, 
Lo  !  was  dumb, 

For  the  great  heart    of  the  nation,   throbbing,    answered, 
"  Lord,  we  come  !  " 


RELIEVING    GUARD 

THOMAS    STARR    KING.       OBIIT    MARCH  4,  1864 

CAME  the  relief.   "  What,  sentry,  ho  ! 
How  passed  the  night  through  thy  long  waking  ?  " 
"  Cold,  cheerless,  dark,  —  as  may  befit 
The  hour  before  the  dawn  is  breaking." 


OX    A    PF.N    OF    THOMAS    STARR    KINO 

"  NI>  sight  '.'   nn  si  mini  ?  ''   "  No;   nothing  save  5 

The  plover  from  the  marshes  calling, 
And  in  yon  western  sky,  about 
An  hour  at;",  a  star  was  falling." 

<l  A  star  '.'   There  's  nothing  strung'  in  thai." 
"No,  nothing;  hut,  above  UK-  thicket,  10 

Somehow  it  seemed  to  me  that  (iod 
Somewhere  had  just  relieved  a  picket." 

ON    A    PEN    OK    THOMAS    STARK    KING 

THIS  is  the  reed  the  dead  musician  dropped, 
\\ith  tuneful  magic  in  its  sheath  still  hidden; 

The  prompt  allegro  of  its  music  stopped, 
Its  melodies  unhidden. 

lint  who  shall  finish  the  unfinished  strain,  f> 

Or  wake  the  instrument  to  awe  and  wonder, 

And  bid  the  slender  barrel  breathe  again, 
An  organ-pipe  of  thunder! 

His  pen!    what  humbler  memories  cling  about 

Its  golden  curves!  what  shapes  and  laughing  graces    10 

Slipped  from  its  point,  when  his  full  heart  went  out 
In  smiles  and  courtly  phrases  '.' 

The  truth,  half  jesting,  half  in  earnest  Hung; 

The  word  i if  cheer,  with  recognition  in  it  ; 
The  note  of  alms,  whose  golden  speech  outrung  I.1) 

The  golden  gift  within  it. 

l>ut  all  in  vain  the  enchanter's  wand  we  wave  : 
No  stroke  of  ours  recalls  his  magic  vision  : 

The  incantation  that   its  power  gave 

Sleeps  with  the  dead  magician.  20 


ANNIVERSARY   POEM  7 

ANNIVERSARY   POEM 

DELIVERED  ON  THE  FOURTEENTH  ANNIVERSARY  OF 
CALIFORNIA'S  ADMISSION  INTO  THE  UNION,  SEPTEM 
BER  9,  1804 

\\TE  meet  in  peace,  though  from. our  native  East 
The  sun  that  sparkles  on  our  birthday  feast 
Glanced  as  he  rose  on  fields  whose  dews  were  red 
With  darker  tints  than  those  Aurora  spread. 
Though  shorn  his  rays,  his  welcome  disk  concealed         5 
In  the  dim  smoke  that  veiled  each  battlefield, 
Still  striving  upward,  in  meridian  pride, 
He  climbed  the  walls  that  East  and  West  divide,  — 
Saw  his  bright  face  flashed  back  from  golden  sand, 
And  Sapphire  seas  that  lave  the  Wrestern  land.  10 

Strange  was  the  contrast  that  such  scenes  disclose 

From  his  high  vantage  o'er  eternal  snows  ; 

There  War's  alarm  the  brazen  trumpet  rings  — 

Here  his  love-song  the  mailed  cicala  sings ; 

There  bayonets  glitter  through  the  forest  glades  —        15 

Here  yellow  cornfields  stack  their  peaceful  blades; 

There  the  deep  trench  where  Valor  finds  a  grave  — 

Here  the  long  ditch  that  curbs  the  peaceful  wave; 

There  the  bold  sapper  with  his  lighted  train  — 

Here  the  dark  tunnel  and  its  stores  of  gain ;  20 

Here  the  full  harvest  and  the  wain's  advance  — 

There  the  Grim  Reaper  and  the  ambulance. 

With  scenes  so  adverse,  what  mysterious  bond 

Links  our  fair  fortunes  to  the  shores  beyond  ? 

Why  come  we  here  —  last  of  a  scattered  fold  —  25 

To  pour  new  metal  in  the  broken  mould  ? 

To  yield  our  tribute,  stamped  with  Caesar's  face, 

To  Caesar,  stricken  in  the  market-place  ? 


ANNIVERSARY    POEM 

Ah!   love  of  country  is  the  secret  tie 

That  joins  these  contrasts  'neath  one  arching  sky  ;         30 

Though  brighter  paths  our  peaceful  steps  explore, 

We  meet  together  at  the  Nation's  door. 

War  winds  her  horn,  and  giant  cliffs  go  down 

Like  the  high  walls  that  girt  the  sacred  town, 

And  hares  the  pathway  to  her  throbbing  heart,  35 

.From  clustered  village  and  from  crowded  mart. 

Fart  of  God's  providence  it  was  to  found 

A  Nation's  bulwark  on  this  chosen  ground  ; 

Not  Jesuit's  zeal  nor  pioneer's  unrest 

Planted  these  pickets  in  the  distant  West,  40 

lint  He  who  first  the  Nation's  fate  forecast 

Placed  here  His  fountains  sealed  for  ages  past, 

Rock-ribbed  and  guarded  till  the  coining  time 

Should  lit  the  people  for  their  work  sublime  ; 

When  a  new  Moses  with  his  rod  of  steel  45 

Smote  the  tall  cliffs  with  one  wide-ringing  peal, 

And  the  old  miracle  in  record  told 

To  the  new  Nation  was  revealed  in  gold. 

Judge  not  too  idly  that  our  toils  are  mean, 

Though  no  new  levies  marshal  on  our  green  ;  50 

Nor  deem  too  rashly  that  our  gains  are  small, 

Weighed  with  the  prizes  for  which  heroes  fall. 

See,  where  thick  vapor  wreathes  the  battle-line  ; 

There  Mercy  follows  with  her  oil  and  wine; 

Or  where  brown  Labor  with  its  peaceful  charm  55 

Stiffens  the  sinews  of  the  Nation's  arm. 

What  nerves  its  hands  to  strike  a  deadlier  blow 

And  hurl  its  legions  on  the  rebel  foe  '.' 

Lo  !    for  each  town  new  rising  o'er  our  State 

See  the  foe's  hamlet  waste  and  desolate,  DO 

While  each  new  factory  lifts  its  chimney  tall, 

Like  a  fresh  mortar  trained  on  Richmond's  wall. 


A   SANITAKY    MESSAGE  9 

For  this,  0  brothers,  swings  the  fruitful  vine, 

Spread  our  broad  pastures  with  their  countless  kine  : 

For  this  o'erhead  the  arching  vault  springs  clear,  65 

Sunlit  and  cloudless  for  one  half  the  year ; 

For  this  no  snowflake,  e'er  so  lightly  pressed, 

Chills  the  warm  impulse  of  our  mother's  breast. 

Quick  to  reply,  from  meadows  brown  and  sere, 

She  thrills  responsive  to  Spring's  earliest  tear ;  70 

Breaks  into  blossom,  flings  her  loveliest  rose 

Ere  the  white  crocus  mounts  Atlantic  snows ; 

And  the  example  of  her  liberal  creed 

Teaches  the  lesson  that  to-day  we  heed. 

Thus  ours  the  lot  with  peaceful,  generous  hand  75 

To  spread  our  bounty  o'er  the  suffering  land ; 

As  the  deep  cleft  in  Mariposa's  wall 

Hurls  a  vast  river  splintering  in  its  fall,  — 

Though  the  rapt  soul  who  stands  in  awe  below 

Sees  but  the  arching  of  the  promised  bow,  —  80 

Lo  !   the  far  streamlet  drinks  its  dews  unseen, 

And  the  whole  valley  wakes  a  brighter  green. 

A    SANITAKY   MESSAGE 

LAST  night,  above  the  whistling  wind, 

I  heard  the  welcome  rain, — 
A  fusillade  upon  the  roof, 

A  tattoo  on  the  pane  :  5 

The  keyhole  piped  ;   the  chimney-top 

A  warlike  trumpet  blew  ; 
Yet,  mingling  with  these  sounds  of  strife, 

A  softer  voice  stole  through. 

"  Give  thanks,  0  brothers  !  "  said  the  voice,  10 

"That  He  who  sent  the  rains 
Hath  spared  your  fields  the  scarlet  dew 
That  drips  from  patriot  veins  : 


10  A    SAMTAHV    MKSSACE 

I  've.  seen  the  grass  on  Kastern  graves 

In  brighter  verdure  rise; 
But.  oh!    the  rain  that  gave  it  life  15 

Sprang  iirst  from  human  eyes. 

"  I  come  to  wa>h  awny  no  stain 

Upon  your  wai-t  'd  lea  ; 
I  raise  no  hanneix  save  the  ones 

The  forest  waves  to  me  :  20 

Upon  the  mountain  side,  where  Spring 

Her  farthest  picket  sets, 
My  reveille  awakes  a  host 

<  )f  gra.-sv  havonets. 

"I     visit  every  humhle  roof;  25 

I  mingle  with  the  low  ; 
Only  upon  the  highest  peaks 

My  blessings  fall  in  snow; 
Until,  in  trickliugs  of  the  stream 

And  Jrainings  of  the  lea,  30 

My  unspent  hountv  comes  at  last 

To  mingle  with  the  sea.'' 

And  thus  all  night,  above  the  wind, 

I  heard  the  welcnine  rain,  — 
A  fusillade  upon  the  roof,  35 

A  tattoo  mi  the  pane  : 
The   keyhole   piped;     the   chiimiey-ti  ip 

A   warlike  trumpet  blew  : 
Kut,  mingling  with  these  sounds  of  strife, 

This  hymn  of  peace  stole  through.  40 


CHIQUITA  11 

CIIIQUITA 

BEAUTIFUL  !   Sir,  you  may  say  so.   Thar  is  n't  her  match 

in  the  county  ; 

Is  thar,  old  gal,  —  Chiquita,  my  darling,  my  beauty  ? 
Feel  of  that  neck,  sir,  — thar  's  velvet!   Whoa!  steady, — 

ah,  will  you,  you  vixen ! 
Whoa !  I  say.  Jack,  trot  her  out ;  let  the  gentleman  look 

at  her  paces. 

Morgan  !  —  she  ain't  nothing  else,  and  I  've  got  the  papers 

to  prove  it.  5 

Sired  by  Chippewa  Chief,  and  twelve  hundred  dollars  won't 

buy  her. 
Briggs  of  Tuolumne  owned  her.  Did  you  know  Briggs  of 

Tuolumne  ? 
Busted  hisself  in  White  Pine,  and  blew  out  his  brains  down 

in  'Frisco  ? 

Hed  n't  no  savey,  hed  Briggs.   Thar,  Jack  !  that  '11  do,  — 

quit  that  foolin' ! 
Nothin'  to  what  she  kin  do,  when  she  's  got  her  work  cut 

out  before  her.  10 

Hosses  is  bosses,  you  know,  and   likewise,   too,  jockeys  is 

jockeys : 
And  't  ain't  ev'ry  man  as   can   ride   as   knows  what  a  boss 

has  got  in  him. 

Know  the  old  ford  on  the  Fork,  that  nearly  got  Flanigan's 

leaders  ? 
Nasty  in  daylight,  you  bet,  and  a  mighty  rough  ford  in  low 

water ! 
Well,  it  ain't  six  weeks  ago  that  me  and  the  Jedge  and  his 

iievey  15 


12  CHIQl'ITA 

Struck  for  that  ford  in  the*  night,  in  the  rain,  and  the  water 
all  round  us  ; 

Up  to  our  Hanks   in  the   gulch,  and  Rattlesnake  Creek  just 

a-bilin', 
Not    a    plank    left    in    the   dam.  and   nary  a   bridge   on    the 

river. 
]   had  the  gray,  and  the  Jedge  had  his  roan,  and  his  nevey. 

Chiquita  ; 
And  after  us  trundled   the  rocks  jest  loosed  from  the  top  of 

the  canon.  20 

Lickity,  lickity,  switch,  we  came  to  the  ford,  and  Chiquita 
Buckled  right  down  to  her  work,  and,  afore  I  could  yell  to 

her  rider, 
Took  water  jest   at   the    ford,  and  there  was  the  Jedge  and 

me  standing, 
And  twelve  hundred  dollars  of  hoss-ilesh  afloat,  and  n-drift- 

in'  to  thunder  ! 

Would   ye    h'lieve   it  '.'    That  night,  that  boss,  that  'ar  filly, 
Chiquita,  25 

Walked  her.-elf  into  her  stall,  and  stood  there,  all  quiet  and 

dripping  : 

Clean  as  a  beaver  or  rat,  with  nary  a  buckle  of  harness, 
Ju.-t  as  she  swam  the   Fork,  —  that  boss,  that  'ar  iilly,  Chi 
quita. 

That's  what  I  call  a  boss!    and—-    What   did   you  say?   - 

Oh,  the  nevey  '.' 
Drownded,  T  reckoned, —  leastways,   he  never  kem   back  to 

deny  it.  30 

Ye  see  the  denied  fool  had  no  seat,  ye  could  n't  have  made 

him  a  rider; 
And  then,  ye  know,  boys  will   be   beys,  and  bosses —  well, 

bosses  i.s  bosses ! 


PLAIN   LANGUAGE    FROM   TRUTHFUL   JAMES  13 

PLAIN  LANGUAGE  FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES 

(TABLE  MOUNTAIN,  mo) 

WHICH  I  wish  to  remark, 

And  ray  language  is  plain, 
That  for  ways  that  are  dark 

And  for  tricks  that  are  vain, 
The  heathen  Chinee  is  peculiar,  5 

Which  the  same  I  would  rise  to  explain. 

Ah  Sin  was  his  name ; 

And  I  shall  not  deny, 
In  regard  to  the  same, 

What  that  name  might  imply  ;  10 

But  his  smile  it  was  pensive  and  childlike, 

As  I  frequent  remarked  to  Bill  Nye. 

It  was  August  the  third, 

And  quite  soft  was  the  skies ; 
Which  it  might  be  inferred  15 

That  Ah  Sin  was  likewise; 
Yet  he  played  it  that  day  upon  William 

And  me  in  a  way  I  despise. 

Which  we  had  a  small  game, 

And  Ah  Sin  took  a  hand.  20 

It  was  Euchre.    The  same 

He  did  not  understand  ; 
But  he  smiled  as  he  sat  by  the  table, 

With  the  smile  that  was  childlike  and  bland. 

Yet  the  cards  they  were  stocked  25 

In  a  way  that  I  grieve, 
And  my  feelings  were  shocked 


14     PLAIN  LANGUAGE  FROM  TRUTHFUL  JAMES 

At  the  state  of  Xye's  sleeve, 
Whicli  was  stalled  full  of  aces  and  liowors, 

And  the  same  with  intent  to  deceive.  30 

But  the  hands  that  were  played 

By  that  heathen  Chinee, 
And  the  puints  that  he  made, 

AYere  quite  frightful  to  see,  -^- 
Till  at  last  he  put  down  a  right  bower,  35 

"Which  the  same  Nye  had  dealt  unto  me. 

Then  I.  looked  up  at  Nye, 

And  he  gazed  upon  me  ; 
And  he  rose  with  a  sigh, 

And  said.  "Can  this  he  ?  40 

AA  e  are  ruined  by  Chinese  cheap  labor,"  — 

And  he  went  for  that  heathen  Chinee. 

In  the  scene  that  ensued 

I  did  not  take  a  hand, 
But  the  floor  it  was  strewed  45 

Like  the  leaves  on  the  strand 
With  the  cards  that  Ah  Sin  had  been  hiding, 

In  the  game  "  he  did  not  understand." 

In  his  sleeves,  which  were  long, 

He  had  twenty-four  jacks, —  50 

YVhieh  was  coining  it  strong, 

Yet  I  state  but  the  facts  ; 
And  we  found  on   his  nail.-,  which  were  taper. 

AY  hat  is  frequent  in  tapers,  —  that 's  wax. 

AYhich  is  why  I  remark,  55 

And  my  language  is  plain. 
That  for  ways  that  are,  dark 

And  fur  tricks  that  are  vain. 
The  heathen  Chinee  is  peculiar,  — 

AYhich  the  same  I  am  free  to  maintain.          f>0 


THE   SOCIETY    UPON   THE    STANISLAUS  15 

THE   SOCIETY    UPON   THE   STANISLAUS 

I  RESIDE  at  Table  Mountain,  and  my  name    is  Truthful 

James  ; 

I  am  not  up  to  small  deceit  or  any  sinful  games ; 
And  I  '11  tell  in  simple  language  what  I  know  about  the 

row 
That  broke  up  our  Society  upon  the  Stanislow. 

But  first  I  would  remark,  that  it  is  not  a  proper  plan          5 
For  any  scientific  gent  to  whale  his  fellow-man, 
And,  if  a  member  don't  agree  with  his  peculiar  whim, 
To  lay  for  that  same  member  for  to  "put  a  head"  on  him. 

Now  nothing  could  be  finer  or  more  beautiful  to  see 
Than  the  first  six  months'  proceedings  of  that  same  Society, 
Till  Brown  of  Calaveras  brought  a  lot  of  fossil  bones         11 
That  he  found  within  a  tunnel  near  the  tenement  of  Jones. 

Then  Brown  he  read  a  paper,  and  he  reconstructed  there, 
From  those  same  bones,  an  animal  that  was  extremely  rare ; 
And  Jones  then  asked  the  Chair  for  a  suspension  of  the 

rules,  15 

Till  he  could  prove  that  those  same  bones  was  one  of  his 

lost  mules. 

Then  Brown  he  smiled  a  bitter  smile,  and  said  he  was  at 

fault, 

It  seemed  he  had  been  trespassing  on  Jones's  family  vault ; 
He  was  a  most  sarcastic  man,  this  quiet  Mr.  Brown, 
And  on  several  occasions  he  had  cleaned  out  the  town.      20 

Now  I  hold  it  is  not  decent  for  a  scientific  gent 
To  say  another  is  an  ass,  — at  least,  to  all  intent ; 
.Nor  should  the  individual  who  happens  to  be  meant 
Reply  by  heaving  rocks  at  him.  to  any  great  extent. 


16  A    GREYPORT   LEGEND 

Then  Abner  Dean  of  Angel's  raised  a  point  of  order,  when 
A  chunk  of  old  red  sandstone  took  him  in  the  abdomen,  2(5 
And  he  smiled  a  kind  of  sickly  smile,  and  curled  up  on  the 

Hour, 
And  the  subsequent  proceedings  interested  him  no  more. 

For.  in  less  time  than  I  write  it,  every  mrmber  did  engage 
In  a  warfare  with  the  remnants  of  a  pal;eo/oic  age;  ,'i() 

And  the  way  they  heaved  those  fossils  in  their  anger  was  a 

sin. 

Till  the  skull  of  an  old  mammoth  caved  the  head  of  Thomp 
son  in. 

And  this  is  all  I  have  to  say  of  these  improper  games, 
For    I  live  at   Table    Mountain,  and  my  name  is  Truthful 

James  ; 

And  I  've  told  in  simple  language  what  T  know  about  the  row 
That  broke  up  our  Society  upon  the  Stanislow.  36 

A    GRKYPORT    LKGEND 
(1707) 

THEY  ran  through  the  streets  of  the  seaport  town, 
They  peered  from  the  decks  of  the  ships  that  lay  ; 
The  cold  sea-fog  that  came  whitening  down 
Was  never  as  cold  or  white  as  they. 

'•  Ho,  Starbuck  and  Pinckney  and  Tenterden  1  5 

Run  for  your  shallops,  gather  your  men, 
Scatter  your  boats  on  the  lower  bay." 

Good  cause  fur  fear!     In  the  thick  mid-day 

The  hulk  that  lay  by  the  rotting  pier, 

Filled  with  the  children  in  happy  play,  10 

Parted  its  moorings  and  drifted  clear, 

Drifted  clear  beyond  reach  or  call.  — 

Thirteen  children  they  were  in  all.  — 
All  adrift  in  the  lower  bav  ! 


A   GREYPORT   LEGEND  17 

Said  a  hard-faced  skipper,  "  God  help  us  all !  15 

She  will  not  float  till  the  turning  tide  !  " 

Said  his  wife,  "  My  darling  will  hear  my  call, 

Whether  in  sea  or  heaven  she  bide  "  ; 

And  she  lifted  a  quavering  voice  and  high, 
Wild  and  strange  as  a  sea-bird's  cry,  20 

Till  they  shuddered  and  wondered  at  her  side. 

The  fog  drove  down  on  each  laboring  crew, 
Veiled  each  from  each  and  the  sky  and  shore  : 
There  was  not  a  sound  but  the  breath  they  drew, 
And  the  lap  of  water  and  creak  of  oar ;  25 

And  they  felt  the  breath  of  the  downs,  fresh  blown 
O'er  leagues  of  clover  and  cold  gray  stone, 
But  not  from  the  lips  that  had  gone  before. 

They  came  no  more.    But  they  tell  the  tale 

That,  when  fogs  are  thick  on  the  harbor  reef,  30 

The  mackerel  fishers  shorten  sail  — 

"For  the  signal  they  know  will  bring  relief ; 

For  the  voices  of  children,  still  at  play 

In  a  phantom  hulk  that  drifts  alway 

Through  channels  whose  waters  never  fail.         35 

It  is  but  a  foolish  shipman's  tale, 

A  theme  for  a  poet's  idle  page  ; 

But  still,  when  the  mists  of  Doubt  prevail, 

And  we  lie  becalmed  by  the  shores  of  Age, 

We  hear  from  the  misty  troubled  shore  40 

The  voice  of  the  children  gone  before, 
Drawing  the  soul  to  its  anchorage. 


1'S  SAN    FRANCISCO 

SAN    FRANCISCO 
(PIMM   TIIK  SKA) 

SKRKNK,  indifferent  of  Fate, 
Thou  sittest  at  the  Western  Gate; 

Upon  thy  height,  so  lately  von, 
Still  slant  the  banners  of  the  sun  ; 

Thou  seest  the  white  seas  strike  their  tents,  5 

(  )  Warder  of  two  continents  ! 

And,  scornful  of  the  peace  that  flies 
Thy  angry  winds  and  sullen  skies, 

Thou  drawest  all  things,  small  or  great, 

TO  thee,  beside  the  Western  (late.  10 

0  lion's  whelp,  that  hidest  fast 

In  jungle  growth  of  spire  and  mast.  ! 

1  know  thy  cunning  and  thy  greed, 
Thy  hard  high  lust  and  willful  deed, 

And  all  thy  glory  loves  to  tell  15 

Of  specious  gifts  material. 

Drop  down,  ()  Fleecy  Fog,  and  hide 
Her  skeptic  sneer  and  all  her  pride! 

"Wrap  her.  <)  Fug,  in  gown  and  hood 

Of  her  Franciscan  Brotherhood.  20 

Hide  me  her  faults,  her  sin  and  blame: 
With  th\    L'MV  mantle  uloak  her  ,-hame  ! 


THE   MOUNTAIN    HEART'S-EASE  19 

So  shall  she,  cowled,  sit  and  pray 
Till  morning  bears  her  sins  away. 

Then  rise,  0  Fleecy  Fog,  and  raise  25 

The  glory  of  her  coming  days ; 

Be  as  the  cloud  that  flecks  the  seas 
Above  her  smoky  argosies; 

When  forms  familiar  shall  give  place 

To  stranger  speech  and  newer  face  ;  30 

When  all  her  throes  and  anxious  fears 
Lie  hushed  in  the  repose  of  years  ; 

When  Art  shall  raise  and  Culture  lift 
The  sensual  joys  and  meaner  thrift, 

And  all  fulfilled  the  vision  wo  35 

Who  watch  and  wait  shall  never  see  ; 

Who,  in  the  morning  of  her  race, 
Toiled  fair  or  meanly  in  our  place, 

But,  yielding  to  the  common  lot, 

Lie  unrecorded  and  forgot.  40 


THE   MOirNTATN    HEART'S-EASE 

BY  scattered  rocks  and  turbid  waters  shifting, 

By  furrowed  glade  and  dell, 
To  feverish  men  thy  calm,  sweet  face  uplifting, 

Thou  stayest  them  to  tell 


20  TO    A    SKA-BIKD 

The  delicate  thought  Iliat  cannot  find  expression,  ,•> 

For  ruder  speech  too  fair. 

That,  like  thy  petals,  trembles  in  possession, 
And  scatters  on  the  air. 

The  miner  pauses  in  his  nigged  labor, 

And,  leaning  on  his  fcpade,  10 

Laughingly  calls  unto  his  comrade-neighbor 

To  see  thy  charms  displayed. 

l»ut  in  his  eyes  a  mist  unwonted  rises, 

And  for  a  moment  clear 
Some  sweet  home  face  his  foolish  thought  surprises,      15 

And  passes  in  a  tear,  — 

Some  boyish  vision  of  his  Eastern  village, 

Of  uneventful  toil, 
"Where  golden  harvests  followed  quiet  tillage 

Above  a  peaceful  soil.  20 

One  moment  onlv  ;    for  the  pick,  uplifting, 

Through  root  and  fibre  cleaves, 
And  on  the  muddv  current  slowly  drifting 

Are  swept  bv  bruised  leav.s. 

And  yet,  ()  poet  in  thy  homely  fashion,  25 

Thy  work  thou  dost  fulfill, 
For  on  the  turbid  current  of  his  passion 

Thy  face  is  shining  still. 

TO    A    SFA-l'.IlM) 
(SANTA   <  in:/,   w.'j) 

SAUNTKKIXG  hither  on  listless  wings, 

Careless  vagabond  of  the  sea, 
Little  thou  heedest  the  surf  that  sings, 
The  bar  that  thunders,  the  shale  that  rings,  — 

Give  me  to  keep  thy  company.  5 


WHAT    THE    CHIMNEY    SANG  21 

Little  thou  hast,  old  friend,  that 's  new; 

Storms  and  wrecks  are  old  things  to  thee; 
Sick  am  I  of  these  changes,  too; 
Little  to  care  for,  little  to  rue,  — 

I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea.  10 

All  of  thy  wanderings,  far  and  near, 

Bring  thee  at  last  to  shore  and  me  ; 
All  of  my  journeyings  end  them  here: 
This  our  tether  must  be  our  cheer,  — 

I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea.  15 

Lazily  rocking  on  ocean's  breast, 

Something  in  common,  old  friend,  have  we  : 
Thou  on  the  shingle  seek'st  thy  nest, 
I  to  the  waters  look  for  rest,  — 

I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea.  20 


WHAT  THE  CHIMNEY    SANG 

OVER  the  chimney  the  night-wind  sang 

And  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew  ; 
And  the  Woman  stopped,  as  her  babe  she  tossed, 

And  thought  of  the  one  she  had  long  since  lost, 
And  said,  as  her  teardrops  back  she  forced,  5 

"  I  hate  the  wind  in  the  chimney." 

Over  the  chimney  the  night-wind  sang 

And  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew; 
And  the  Children  said,  as  they  closer  drew, 

"  'T  is  some  witch  that  is  cleaving  the  black  10 

night  through, 
'T  is  a  fairy  trumpet  that  just  then  blew, 

And  we  fear  the  wind  in  the  chimney." 


22  MCKF.NS    IX    CAMl' 

Over  the  chimney  the  night-wind  sang 
Ami  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew; 

And  the  .Man,  as  lie  sat  on  his  hearth  below,  1") 

Said  to  himself,   "  It  will  surely  snow, 

And  fuel  is  dear  and  wages  low, 

And  I  '11  stop  the  leak  in  the  chimney." 

Over  the  chimney  the  night-wind  sang 

And  chanted  a  melody  no  one  knew;  20 

1'ut  the  I'oet  listened  and  smiled,  for  he 

"VVas  Man  and  "Woman  and  Child,  all  three, 
And  said,  "  It  is  (Jod's  own  harmony, 

This  wind  we  hear  in  the  chimney." 


DICKENS   IX   CAMP 

ABOVK  the  pines  the  moon  was  slowly  drifting, 

The  river  sang  below; 
The  dim  Sierras,  far  beyond,  uplifting 

Their  minarets  of  snow. 

The  roaring  camp-tire,  with  rude  humor,  painted  5 

The  ruddy  tints  of  health 
On  haggard  face  and  form  that  drooped  and  fainted 

In  the  fierce  race  for  wealth  ; 

Till  one  arose,  ami  from  his  pack's  scant  treasure 

A  hoarded  volume  drew,  10 

And  cards  were  dropped  from  hands  of  listless  leisure 
To  hear  the  tale  anew. 

And  then,  while  round  them  shadows  gathered  faster. 

And  as  the  firelight  fell. 
He  read  aloud  the  book  wherein  the  Master  15 

Had  writ  of  "  Little  Nell." 


THE   MISSION   BELLS   OF   MONTEREY  23 

Perhaps  't  was  boyish  fancy,  —  for  the  reader 

Was  youngest  of  them  all,  — 
But,  as  he  read,  from  clustering  pine  and  cedar 

A  silence  seemed  to  fall  ;  20 

The  fir-trees,  gathering  closer  in  the  shadows, 

Listened  in  every  spray, 
While  the  whole  camp  with  "  Nell "  on  English  meadows 

Wandered  and  lost  their  way. 

And  so  in  mountain  solitudes  —  o'ertaken  ,  25 

As  by  some  spell  divine  — 
Their  cares  dropped  from  them  like  the  needles  shaken 

From  out  the  gusty  pine. 

Lost  is  that  camp  and  wasted  all  its  fire  ; 

And  he  who  wrought  that  spell  ?  30 

Ah  !  towering  pine  and  stately  Kentish  spire, 

Ye  have  one  tale  to  tell ! 

Lost  is  that  camp,  but  let  its  fragrant  story 

Blend  with  the  breath  that  thrills 
With  hop-vine's  incense  all  the  pensive  glory  35 

That  fills  the  Kentish  hills. 

And  on  that  grave  where  English  oak  and  holly 

And  laurel  wreaths  entwine, 
Deem  it  not  all  a  too  presumptuous  folly, 

This  spray  of  Western  pine  !  40 

July,  1870. 

THE    MISSION    ] JELLS    OF    MONTEREY 

0  HELLS  that  rang,  0  bells  that  sang 
Above  the  martyrs'  wilderness, 
Till  from  that  reddened  coast-line  sprang 
The  Gospel  seed  to  cheer  and  bless, 


24  THE    ANCELUS 

What  are  your  garnered  sheaves  to-day  ?  5 

0  Mission  bells!   Eleison  bells! 
O  Mission  bells  of  Monterey  ! 

O  bells  that  crash,  ()  bells  that  clash 

Above  the  chimney-crowded  plain, 

On  wall  and  tower  your  voices  dash,  10 

P>ut  never  with  the  old  refrain  ; 

In  mart  and  temple  gone  astray  ! 

Ye  dangle  bells  !    Ye  jangle  bells  ! 

Ye  wrangle  bells  of  Monterey  ! 

()  bells  that  die,  so  far,  so  nigh,  15 

Come  back  once  more  across  the  sea; 

Not  with  the  zealot's  furious  cry, 

Nut  witli  the  creed's  austerity; 

Come  with  His  love  alone  to  stay, 

O  Mission  bells!    Eleison  bells  !  20 

0  Mission  bells  of  Monterey  ! 


THE    AXGELUS 

(HKAKD   AT  THE  MISSION   DOLOKKS,  ises) 

"BELLS  of  the  Past,  whose  long-forgotten  music 
Still  fills  the  wide  expanse, 

Tingeing  the  sober  twilight  of  the  Present 
With  color  of  romance  ! 

I  hear  your  call,  and  sec  the  sun  descending 
(  >n  rock  and  wave  and  sand, 

As  down  the  coast  the  Mission  voices,  blending, 
(Jirdle  the  heathen  land. 


THE  ANGELUS  25 

Within  the  circle  of  your  incantation 

No  blight  nor  mildew  falls  ;  10 

Nor  fierce  unrest,  nor  lust,  nor  low  ambition 

Passes  those  airy  walls. 

Borne  on  the  swell  of  your  long  waves  receding> 

I  touch  the  farther  Past ; 
I  see  the  dying  glow  of  Spanish  glory,  15 

The  sunset  dream  and  last ! 

Before  me  rise  the  dome-shaped  Mission  towers, 

The  white  Presidio  ; 
The  swart  commander  in  his  leathern  jerkin, 

The  priest  in  stole  of  snow.  20 

Once  more  I  see  Portola's  cross  uplifting 

Above  the  setting  sun  ; 
And  past  the  headland,  northward,  slowly  drifting, 

The  freighted  galleon. 

0  solemn  bells  !  whose  consecrated  masses  25 

Recall  the  faith  of  old  ; 
0  tinkling  bells  !   that  lulled  with  twilight  music  ! 

The  spiritual  fold  ! 

Your  voices  break  and  falter  in  the  darkness,  — 

Break,  falter,  and  are  still  ;  30 

And  veiled  and  mystic,  like  the  Host  descending, 
The  sun  sinks  from  the  hill ! 


STORIES   AND   SKETCHES 


THE    LUCK    OF   KOAKIXG  CAMP 

THKKK  was  commotion  in  Koaring  Camp.  It  could  not 
have  been  a  tight,  for  in  1850  that  was  not  novel  enough  to 
have  called  together  the  entire  settlement.  The  ditches  and 
claims  \ven.>  not  only  deserted,  but  "  Tattle's  grocery  "  had 
contributed  its  gamblers,  who,  it  will  be  remembered, 
calmly  continued  their  game  the  day  that  French  Pete  and 
Kanaka  Joe  shot  each  other  to  death  over  the  bar  in  the 
front  room.  The  whole  camp  was  collected  before  a  rudo 
cabin  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  clearing.  Conversation  was 
carried  on  in  a  low  tone,  but  the  name  of  a  woman  was 
frequently  repeated.  It  was  a  name  familiar  enough  in 
the  camp,  —  "  Cherokee  Sal." 

Perhaps  the  less  said  of  her  the  better.  She  was  a 
coarse  and.  it  is  to  be  feared,  a  very  sinful  woman.  But  at 
that  time  she  was  the  only  woman  in  Koaring  Cam]),  and 
was  just  then  lying  in  sure  extremity,  when  she  must 
needed  the  ministration  of  her  own  sex.  Dissolute,  aban 
doned,  and  irreclaimable,  she  was  yet  suffering  a  martyrdom 
hard  enough  to  hear  even  when  veiled  by  sympathizing 
womanhood,  but  now  terrible,  in  her  loneliness.  The  primal 
curse,  had  come  to  her  in  that  original  isolation  which  must 
have  made  the  punishment  of  the  first  transgression  so 
dreadful.  It  was,  perhaps,  part  of  the  expiation  of  her  sin 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP          27 

that,  at  a  moment  when  she  most  lacked  her  sex's  intuitive 
tenderness  and  care,  she  met  only  the  half-contemptuous 
faces  of  her  masculine  associates.  Yet  a  few  of  the  specta 
tors  were,  I  think,  touched  by  her  sufferings.  Sandy  Tipton 
thought  it  was  "  rough  on  Sal,"  and,  in  the  contemplation 
of  her  condition,  for  a  moment  rose  superior  to  the  fact  that 
he  had  an  ace  and  two  bowers  in  his  sleeve. 

It  will  be  seen  also  that  the  situation  was  novel. 
Deaths  were  by  no  means  uncommon  in  Roaring  Camp,  but 
a  birth  was  a  new  thing.  People  had  been  dismissed  the 
camp  effectively,  finally,  and  with  no  possibility  of  return  ; 
but  this  was  the  first  time  that  anybody  had  been  introduced 
ab  initio.  Hence  the  excitement. 

"  You  go  in  there,  Stumpy,"  said  a  prominent  citizen 
known  as  "  Kentuck,"  addressing  one  of  the  loungers. 
"  Go  in  there,  and  see  what  you  kin  do.  You  've  had 
experience  in  them  things." 

Perhaps  there  was  a  fitness  in  the  selection.  Stumpy,  in 
other  climes,  had  been  the  putative  head  of  two  families ; 
in  fact,  it  was  owing  to  some  legal  informality  in  these 
proceedings  that  Roaring  Camp  —  a  city  of  refuge  —  was 
indebted  to  his  company.  The  crowd  approved  the  choice, 
and  Stumpy  was  wise  enough  to  bow  to  the  majority.  The 
door  closed  on  the  extempore  surgeon  and  midwife,  and 
Roaring  Camp  sat  down  outside,  smoked  its  pipe,  and 
awaited  the  issue. 

The  assemblage  numbered  about  a  hundred  men.  One 
or  two  of  these  were  actual  fugitives  from  justice,  some 
were  criminal,  and  all  were  reckless.  Physically  they 
exhibited  no  indication  of  their  past  lives  and  character. 
The  greatest  scamp  had  a  Raphael  face,  with  a  profusion  of 
blonde  hair ;  Oakhurst,  a  gambler,  had  the  melancholy  air 
and  intellectual  abstraction  of  a  Hamlet ;  the  coolest  and 
most  courageous  man  was  scarcely  over  five  feet  in  height, 
with  a  soft  voice  and  an  embarrassed,  timid  manner.  The 


i>S  THE    LUCK    OF    ROAKIN<;    CAMP 

term  "  roughs  "  applied  to  them  was  a  distinction  rather 
than  a  definition.  Perhaps  in  the  minor  details  of  fingers, 
toes,  ears,  etc.,  the  camp  may  have  been  deficient,  but  these 
slight  omissions  did  not  detract  from  their  aggregate  force. 
The  strongest  man  had  but  three  lingers  on  his  right  hand  ; 
the  best  shot  had  but  one  eye. 

Such  was  the  physical  aspect  of  the  men  that  were  dis 
persed  around  the  cabin.  The  camp  lay  in  a  triangular 
valley  between  two  hills  and  a  river.  The  only  outlet  was 
a  steep  trail  over  the  summit  of  a  hill  that  faced  the  cabin, 
now  illuminated  by  the  rising  moon.  The  suffering  woman 
might  have  seen  it  from  the  rude  bunk  whereon  she  lav,  — • 
seen  it  winding  like  a  silver  thread  until  it  was  lost  in  the 
stars  above. 

A  fire  of  withered  pine  boughs  added  sociability  to  the 
gathering.  By  degrees  the  natural  levity  of  Roaring  ('amp 
returned.  Bets  were  freely  offered  and  taken  regarding  the 
result.  Three  to  five  that  "  Sal  would  get  through  with 
it  ;  "  even  that  the  child  would  survive  ;  side  bets  as  to  the 
sex  and  complexion  of  the  coming  stranger.  In  the  midst 
of  an  excited  discussion  an  exclamation  came  from  those 
nearest  the  door,  and  the  camp  stopped  to  listen.  Above 
the  swaying  and  moaning  of  the  pines,  the  swift  rush  of  the 
river,  and  the  crackling  of  the  fire  rose  a  sharp,  querulous 
cry,  —  a  cry  unlike  anything  heard  before  in  the  camp. 
The  pines  stopped  moaning,  the  river  ceased  to  rush,  and 
the  fire  to  crackle.  It  seemed  as  if  Nature  had  stopped  to 
listen  too. 

The  camp  rose  to  its  feet  as  one  man  !  Tt  was  proposed 
to  explode  a  barrel  of  gunpowder;  but  in  consideration  of 
the  situation  of  the  mother,  better  counsels  prevailed,  and 
only  a  few  revolvers  were  discharged  ;  for  whether  owing 
to  the  rude  surgery  of  the  camp,  or  some  other  reason, 
Cherokee  Sal  was  sinking  fast.  AVithin  an  hour  she  had 
climbed,  as  it  were,  that  rugged  road  that  led  to  the  stars, 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP          29 

and  so  passed  out  of  Roaring  Camp,  its  sin  and  shame,  for 
ever.  I  do  not  think  that  the  announcement  disturbed  them 
much,  except  in  speculation  as  to  the  fate  of  the  child. 
"  Can  he  live  now  ?  "  was  asked  of  Stumpy.  The  answer 
was  doubtful.  The  only  other  being  of  Cherokee  Sal's  sex 
and  maternal  condition  in  the  settlement  was  an  ass. 
There  was  some  conjecture  as  to  fitness,  but  the  experiment 
was  tried.  It  was  less  problematical  than  the  ancient  treat 
ment  of  Romulus  and  Remus,  and  apparently  as  success 
ful. 

When  these  details  were  completed,  which  exhausted 
another  hour,  the  door  was  opened,  and  the  anxious  crowd 
of  men,  who  had  already  formed  themselves  into  a  queue, 
entered  in  single  file.  Beside  the  low  bunk  or  shelf,  on 
which  the  figure  of  the  mother  was  starkly  outlined  below 
the  blankets,  stood  a  pine  table.  On  this  a  candle-box  was 
placed,  and  within  it,  swathed  in  staring  red  flannel,  lay  the 
last  arrival  at  Roaring  Camp.  Beside  the  candle-box  was 
placed  a  hat.  Its  use  was  soon  indicated.  "  Gentlemen," 
said  Stumpy,  with  a  singular  mixture  of  authority  and  ex 
officio  complacency,  —  "  gentlemen  will  please  pass  in  at 
the  front  door,  round  the  table,  and  out  at  the  back  door. 
Them  as  wishes  to  contribute  anything  toward  the  orphan 
will  find  a  hat  handy."  The  first  man  entered  with  his  hat 
on  ;  he  uncovered,  however,  as  he  looked  about  him,  and 
so  unconsciously  set  an  example  to  the  next.  In  such 
communities  good  and  bad  actions  are  catching.  As  the 
procession  filed  in  comments  were  atidible,  — criticisms  ad 
dressed  perhaps  rather  to  Stumpy  in  the  character  of  show 
man  :  "  Is  that  him  ?  "  "  Mighty  small  specimen  ;  " 
"  Has  n't  more  'n  got  the  color  ; "  "  Ain't  bigger  nor  a  der 
ringer."  The  contributions  were  as  characteristic  :  A 
silver  tobacco  box  ;  a  doubloon  ;  a  navy  revolver,  silver 
mounted  ;  a  gold  specimen  ;  a  very  beautifully  embroidered 
lady's  handkerchief  (from  Oakhurst  the  gambler) ;  a  dia- 


30          THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP 

mond  breastpin;  a  diamond  ring  (suggested  by  the  pin,  with 
the  remark  from  the  giver  that  he  "saw  that  pin  and  went 
two  diamonds  better'')  ;  a  slung-shot;  a  Bible  (contributor 
not  detectedj  ;  a  golden  spur;  a  silver  teaspoon  (the  initials, 
I  regret  to  say,  were  not  the  giver's)  ;  a  pair  of  surgeon's 
shears  ;  a  lancet  ;  a  Bank  of  England  note  for  £5;  and  about 
$200  in  loose  gold  and  silver  coin.  During  these  proceed 
ings  Stumpy  maintained  a  silence  as  impassive  as  the  dead  on 
his  left,  a  gravity  as  inscrutable  as  that  of  the  newly  born 
on  his  right.  Only  <me  incident  occurred  to  break  lh>-  monot 
ony  of  the  curious  procession.  As  Keutuck  bent  over  the 
candle-box  hall  curiously,  the  child  turned,  and,  in  a  spasm 
of  pain,  caught  at  his  groping  finger,  and  held  it  fast  for  a 
moment.  Kentuck  looked  foolish  and  embarrassed.  Some 
thing  like  a  blush  tried  to  assert  itself  in  his  weather-beaten 
cheek.  "  The  d — d  little  cuss  !  "  he  said,  as  he  extricated 
his  finger,  with  perhaps  more  tenderness  and  care  than  ho 
might  have  been  deemed  capable  of  showing.  I  fe  held 
that  finger  a  little  apart  from  its  fellows  as  he  went  out, 
and  examined  it  curiously.  The  examination  provoked  the 
same  original  remark  in  regard  to  the  child.  In  fact,  he 
seemed  to  enjoy  repeating  it.  "  He  rastled  with  my  finger," 
he  remarked  to  Tipton,  holding  up  the  member,  ''  the  d — d 
little  cuss!  " 

It  was  four  o'clock  before  the  camp  sought  repose.  A 
light  burnt  in  the  cabin  where  the  watchers  sat,  for  Stumpy 
did  not  go  to  bed  that  night.  Nor  did  Kentuck.  He  drank 
quite  freely,  and  related  with  great  gusto  his  experience, 
invariably  ending  with  his  characteristic  condemnation  of 
the  newcomer.  It  seemed  to  relieve  him  of  any  unjust 
implication  of  sentiment,  and  Kentuck  had  the  weaknesses 
of  the  nobler  sex.  When  everybody  else  had  gone  to  bed, 
he  walked  down  to  the  river  and  whistled  reflectingly. 
Then  he  walked  up  the  gulch  past  the  cabin,  still  whistling 
with  demonstrative  unconcern.  At  a  large  redwood-tree  he 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP          31 

paused  and  retraced  his  steps,  and  again  passed  the  cabin. 
Halfway  down,  to  the  river's  bank  he  again  paused,  and 
then  returned  and  knocked  at  the  door.  It  was  opened  by 
Stumpy.  "  How  goes  it  ?  "  said  Kentuck,  looking  past 
Stumpy  toward  the  candle-box.  "All  serene!"  replied 
Stumpy.  "  Anything  up  ?  "  "  Nothing."  There  was  a 
pause  —  an  embarrassing  one  —  Stumpy  still  holding  the 
door.  Then  Kentuck  had  recourse  to  his  finger,  which  he 
held  up  to  Stumpy.  "  Kastled  with  it,  —  the  d — d  little 
cuss,"  he  said,  and  retired. 

The  next  day  Cherokee  Sal  had  such  rude  sepulture  as 
Roaring  Camp  afforded.  After  her  body  had  been  committed 
to  the  hillside,  there  was  a  formal  meeting  of  the  camp  to 
discuss  what  should  be  done  with  her  infant.  A  resolution 
to  adopt  it  was  unanimous  and  enthusiastic.  But  an  ani 
mated  discussion  in  regard  to  the  manner  and  feasibility  of 
providing  for  its  wants  at  once  sprang  up.  It  was  remarkable 
that  the  argument  partook  of  none  of  those  fierce  person 
alities  with  which  discussions  were  usually  conducted  at 
Roaring  Camp.  Tipton  proposed  that  they  should  send  the 
child  to  Red  Dog,  —  a  distance  of  forty  miles,  —  where 
female  attention  could  be  procured.  But  the  unlucky  sug 
gestion  met  with  fierce  and  unanimous  opposition.  It  was 
evident  that  no  plan  which  entailed  parting  from  their  new 
acquisition  would  for  a  moment  be  entertained.  "  Besides," 
said  Tom  Ryder,  "  them  fellows  at  Red  Dog  would  swap 
it,  and  ring  in  somebody  else  on  us."  A  disbelief  in  the 
honesty  of  other  camps  prevailed  at  Roaring  Camp,  as  in 
other  places. 

The  introduction  of  a  female  nurse  in  the  camp  also  met 
with  objection.  It  was  argued  that  no  decent  woman  could 
be  prevailed  to  accept  Roaring  Camp  as  her  home,  and  the 
speaker  urged  that  "  they  did  n't  want  any  more  of  the  other 
kind."  This  unkind  allusion  to  the  defunct  mother,  harsh 
as  it  may  teem,  was  the  first  spas  in  of  propriety,  — the  first 


•}'2  THE    LUCK    OF   KOAKING    CAMP 

symptom  of  the  camp's  regeneration.  Stumpy  advanoed 
nothing.  Perhaps  lie  felt  a  certain  delicacy  in  interfering 
with  the  selection  of  a  possible  successor  in  oflice.  But 
when  questioned,  he  averred  stoutly  that  lie  and  "  Jinny"  — 
the  mammal  before  alluded  to — could  manage  to  rear  the 
child.  There  wad  something  original,  independent,  and 
heroic  about  the  plan  that  pleased  the  camp.  Stumpy  was 
retained.  Certain  articles  were  sent  for  to  Sacramento. 
"  .Mind/'  said  the  treasurer,  as  he  pressed  a  bag  of  gold-dust 
into  the  expressman's  hand,  "the  best  that  can  be  got, — 
lace,  you  know,  and  filigree-work  and  frills, — d — n  the 
cost !  " 

Strange  to  say,  the  child  thrived.  .Perhaps  the  invigo 
rating  climate  of  the  mountain  camp  was  compensation  for 
material  deficiencies.  Nature  took  the  foundling  to  her 
broader  breast.  In  that  rare  atmosphere  of  the  Sierra  foot 
hills, —  that  air  pungent  with  balsamic  odor,  that  ethereal 
cordial  at  once  bracing  and  exhilarating,  — •  he  may  have 
found  food  and  nourishment,  or  a  subtle  chemistry  that 
transmuted  ass's  milk  to  lime  and  phosphorus.  Stumpy 
inclined  to  the  belief  that  it  was  the  latter  and  good  nurs 
ing.  "Me  and  that  ass,"  he  would  say,  "has  been  father 
and  mother  to  him  !  Don't  you,"  he  would  add.  apostro 
phizing  the  helpless  bundle  before  him,  "  never  go  back 
on  us." 

By  the  time  he  was  a  month  old  the  necessity  of  giving 
him  a  name  became  apparent.  He  had  generally  been 
known  as  "  The  Kid,"  "'  Stumpy's  Boy,"  "The  Coyote" 
(an  allusion  to  his  vocal  powers),  and  even  by  Kentuck's 
endearing  diminutive  of  "The  d — d  little  cuss."  But  these 
were  felt  to  be  vague  and  unsatisfactory,  and  were  at  last 
dismissed  under  another  influence.  (Jamblors  and  adven 
turers  are  generally  superstitious,  and  Oakhurst  one  day 
declared  that  the  baby  had  brought  "(lie  luck"  to  Roaring 
Camp.  It  was  certain  that  of  late  they  had  been  success- 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP          33 

ful.  "  Luck  "  was  the  name  agreed  upon,  with  the  prefix 
of  Tommy  for  greater  convenience.  Xo  allusion  was  made 
to  the  mother,  and  the  father  was  unknown.  "  It's  better," 
said  the  philosophical  Oakhurst,  "  to  take  a  fresh  deal  all 
round.  Call  him  Luck,  and  start  him  fair."  A  day  was 
accordingly  set  apart  for  the  christening.  What  was  meant 
by  this  ceremony  the  reader  may  imagine  who  has  already 
gathered  some  idea  of  the  reckless  irreverence  of  Roaring 
Camp.  The  master  of  ceremonies  was  one  "  Boston,"  a 
noted  wag,  and  the  occasion  seemed  to  promise  the  greatest 
facetiousness.  This  ingenious  satirist  had  spent  two  days 
in  preparing  a  burlesque  of  the  Church  service,  with  pointed 
local  allusions.  The  choir  was  properly  trained,  and  Sandy 
Tipton  was  to  stand  godfather.  But  after  the  procession 
had  marched  to  the  grove  with  music  and  banners,  and  the 
child  had  been  deposited  before  a  mock  altar,  Stumpy 
stepped  before  the  expectant  crowd.  "  It  ain't  my  style  to 
spoil  fun,  boys,"  said  the  little  man,  stoutly  eying  the  faces 
around  him,  "  but  it  strikes  me  that  this  thing  ain't  exactly 
on  the  squar.  It 's  playing  it  pretty  low  down  on  this  yer 
baby  to  ring  in  fun  on  him  that  he  ain't  goin'  to  understand. 
And  ef  there  's  goin'  to  be  any  godfathers  round,  I  'd  like  to 
see  who's  got  any  better  rights  than  me."  A  silence  fol 
lowed  Stumpy's  speech.  To  the  credit  of  all  humorists  be 
it  said  that  the  first  man  to  acknowledge  its  justice  was  the 
satirist  thus  stopped  of  his  fun.  "  But,"  said  Stumpy, 
quickly  following  up  his  advantage,  "  we  're  here  for  a 
christening,  and  we  '11  have  it.  I  proclaim  you  Thomas 
Luck,  according  to  the  laws  of  the  United  States  and  the 
State  of  California,  so  help  me  God."  It  was  the  first  time 
that  the  name  of  the  Deity  had  been  otherwise  uttered  than 
profanely  in  the  camp.  The  form  of  christening  was  per 
haps  even  more  ludicrous  than  the  satirist  had  conceived ; 
but  strangely  enough,  nobody  saw  it  and  nobody  laughed. 
"  Tommy  "  was  christened  as  seriously  as  he  would  have 


31  THE  LUCK  OF  ROARING  CAMP 

been  under  a  Christian  roof,  and  cried  and  was  comforted  in 
as  orthodox  fashion. 

And  so  the  work  of  regeneration  began  in  Roaring 
Camp.  Almost  imperceptibly  a  change  came  over  the 
settlement.  The  cabin  assigned  to  "Tommy  Luck" — or 
"The  Luck/'  as  lie  was  more  frequently  called  —  first 
showed  signs  of  improvement.  It  was  kept  scrupulously 
clean  and  whitewashed.  Then  it  was  hoarded,  clothed, 
and  papered.  The  rosewood  cradle,  packed  eighty  miles  l<v 
mule,  had,  in  Stumpy's  way  of  putting  it,  "  sorter  killed 
the  rest  of  the  furniture.1'  So  the  rehabilitation  of  the 
cabin  became  a  necessity.  The  men  who  were  in  the  habit 
of  lounging  in  at  Stumpy's  to  see  "  how  '  The  Luck  '  got  on  '' 
seemed  to  appreciate  the  change,  and  in  self-defense  the 
rival  establishment  of  "  Tuttle's  grocery  "  bestirred  itself 
and  imported  a  carpet  and  mirrors.  The  reflections  of  the 
latter  on  the  appearance  of  Roaring  Camp  tended  to  pro 
duce  stricter  habits  of  personal  cleanliness.  Again  Stumpy 
imposed  a  kind  of  quarantine  upon  those  who  aspired  to  the 
honor  and  privilege  of  holding  The  Luck.  It  was  a  cruel 
mortification  to  Kentuck  —  who,  in  the  carelessness  of  a 
large  nature  and  the  habits  of  frontier  life,  had  begun  to 
regard  all  garments  as  a  second  cuticle,  which,  like  a 
snake's,  only  sloughed  off  through  decay — to  be  debarred 
this  privilege  from  certain  prudential  reasons.  A  et  such 
was  the  subtle  influence  of  innovation  that  he  thereafter 
appeared  regularly  every  afternoon  in  a  clean  shirt  and 
face  still  shining  from  his  ablutions.  Nor  were  moral  and 
social  sanitary  laws  neglected.  ''Tommy,"  who  was  sup 
posed  to  spend  his  whole  existence  in  a  persistent  attempt 
to  repose,  must  not  be  disturbed  by  noise.  The  shouting 
and  yelling,  which  had  gained  the  camp  its  infelicitous  title. 
were  not  permitted  within  hearing  distance  of  Stumpy's. 
The  men  converged  in  whispers  or  smoked  with  Indian 
gravity.  Profanity  was  tacitly  given  up  in  these  sacred  pre- 


THE  LUCK  OF  ROAKING  CAMP          35 

cincts,  and  throughout  the  camp  a  popular  form  of  exple 
tive,  known  as  "  J) — n  the  luck  !  "  and  "  Curse  the  luck  !  " 
was  abandoned,  as  having  a  new  personal  bearing.  Vocal 
music  was  not  interdicted,  being  supposed  to  have  a  sooth 
ing,  tranquilizing  quality;  and  one  song,  sung  by  "  Man-o'- 
War  Jack,"  an  English  sailor  from  her  Majesty's  Australian 
"colonies,  was  quite  popular  as  a  lullaby.  It  was  a  lugubri 
ous  recital  of  the  exploits  of  "  the  Arethusa,  Seventy-four," 
in  a  muffled  minor,  ending  with  a  prolonged  dying  fall  at 
the  burden  of  each  verse,  "  On  b-oo-o-ard  of  the  Arethusa." 
It  was  a  fine  sight  to  see  Jack  holding  The  Luck,  rocking 
from  side  to  side  as  if  with  the  motion  of  a  ship,  and  croon 
ing  forth  this  naval  ditty.  Either  through  the  peculiar 
rocking  of  Jack  or  the  length  of  his  song,  —  it  contained 
ninety  stanzas,  and  was  continued  with  conscientious  deliber 
ation  to  the  bitter  end,  —  the  lullaby  generally  had  the 
desired  eifect.  At  such  times  the  men  would  lie  at  full 
length  under  the  trees  in  the  soft  summer  twilight,  smok 
ing  their  pipes  and  drinking  in  the  melodious  xitterances. 
An  indistinct  idea  that  this  was  pastoral  happiness  per 
vaded  the  camp.  "  This  'ere  kind  o'  think,"  said  the 
Cockney  Simmons,  meditatively  reclining  on  his  elbow,  "  is 
'evingly."  It  reminded  him  of  Greenwich. 

On  the  long  summer  days  The  Luck  was  usually  carried 
to  the  gulch  from  whence  the  golden  store  of  Roaring 
Camp  was  taken.  There,  on  a  blanket  spread  over  pine 
boughs,  he  would  lie  while  the  men  were  working  in  the 
ditches  below.  Latterly  there  was  a  rude  attempt  to  deco 
rate  this  bower  with  flowers  and  sweet-smelling  shrubs,  and 
generally  some  one  would  bring  him  a  cluster  of  wild  honey 
suckles,  azaleas,  or  the  painted  blossoms  of  Las  Mariposas. 
The  men  had  suddenly  awakened  to  the  fact  that  there 
were  beauty  and  significance  in  these  triiles,  which  they  had 
so  long  trodden  carelessly  beneath  their  feet.  A  flake  of 
glittering  mica,  a  fragment  of  variegated  quartz,  &  bright 


-'•!«'»  THE    LUCK.    OF    ROARING    CAM!' 

pebble  from  the  bed  of  the  creek,  became  beautiful  to  eyes 
thus  cleared  and  strengthened,  and  were  invariably  put 
aside  for  The  Luck.  It  was  wonderful  how  many  trea 
sures  the  woods  and  hillsides  yielded  that  "  would  do  for 
Tommy."  Surrounded  by  playthings  such  as  never  child 
out  of  fairyland  had  before,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  Tommy 
was  content.  He  appeared  to  lie  serenely  happy,  albeit 
there  was  an  infantine  gravity  about  him,  a  contemplative 
light  in  his  round  gray  eyes,  that  sometimes  worried  Stumpy. 
He  was  always  tractable  and  quiet,  and  it  is  recorded  thi't 
once,  having  crept  beyond  his  '•  corral."  — a  hedge  of  tessel 
lated  pine  boughs,  which  surrounded  his  bed,  —  he  dropped 
over  the  bunk  on  his  head  in  the  soft  earth,  and  remained 
with  his  mottled  legs  in  the  air  in  that  position  for  at  least 
five  minutes  with  unflinching  gravity.  He  was  extricated 
without  a  murmur.  1  hesitate  to  record  the  many  other 
instances  of  his  sagacity,  which  rest,  unfortunately,  upon 
the  statements  of  prejudiced  friends.  Some  of  them  were 
not  without  a  tinge  of  superstition.  "  I  erep'  up  the  bank 
just  now,"  said  Kentuek  OIK;  day,  in  a  breathless  state  of 
excitement,  '*  and  dern  my  skin  if  he  was  n't  a-talking  to  a 
jaybird  as  was  a-.sittin'  on  his  la]).  There  they  was,  just  as 
free  and  sociable  as  anything  you  please,  a-jawiif  at  each 
other  just  like  two  cherry  bums."  Howbe.it,  whether  creep 
ing  over  the  pine  boughs  or  lying  la/.ily  on  his  back  blink 
ing  at  the  leaves  above  him,  to  him  the  birds  sang,  the 
squirrels  chattered,  and  the  flowers  bloomed.  Nature  was 
his  nurse  and  playfellow.  For  him  she  would  let  slip  be 
tween  the  leaves  golden  shafts  of  sunlight  that  fell  just 
within  his  grasp  :  she,  would  send  wandering  bree/es  to 
visit  him  with  the  halm  of  bay  and  resinous  gum  ;  to  him 
the  tall  redwoods  nodded  familiarly  and  sleepily,  the  bum 
blebees  buzzed,  and  the  rooks  cawed  a  slumbrous  accom 
paniment. 

Such  was  the  golden  summer  of  Roaring  Camp.     They 


THE  LUCK  OF  KOAKING  CAMP  37 

were  "  Hush  times,"  and  tlio  luck  was  with  them.  The 
claims  had  yielded  enormously.  The,  camp  was  jealous  of 
its  privileges  and  looked  suspiciously  on  strangers.  No 
encouragement  was  given  to  immigration,  and,  to  make 
their  seclusion  more  perfect,  the  land  on  either  side  of 
the  mountain  wall  that  surrounded  the  camp  they  duly 
preempted.  This,  and  a  reputation  for  singular  proficiency 
with  the  revolver,  kept  the  reserve  of  Roaring  Camp  invio 
late.  The  expressman  —  their  only  connecting  link  with 
the  surrounding  world  —  sometimes  told  wonderful  stones 
of  the  camp.  He  would  say,  "  They  've  a  street  up  there 
in  '  Roaring '  that  would  lay  over  any  street  in  Red  Dog. 
They  've  got  vines  and  flowers  round  their  houses,  and  they 
wash  themselves  twice  a  day.  But  they  're  mighty  rough 
on  strangers,  and  they  worship  an  Ingin  baby." 

With  the  prosperity  of  the  camp  came  a  desire  for 
further  improvement.  It  was  proposed  to  build  a  hotel  in 
the  following  spring,  and  to  invite  one  or  two  decent  fam 
ilies  to  reside  there  for  the  sake  of  The  Luck,  who  might 
perhaps  profit  by  female  companionship.  The  sacrifice  that 
this  concession  to  the  sex  cost  these  men,  who  were  fiercely 
skeptical  in  regard  to  its  general  virtue  and  usefulness,  can 
only  be  accounted  for  by  their  affection  for  Tommy.  A  few 
still  held  out.  But  the  resolve  could  not  be  carried  into 
effect  for  three  months,  and  the  minority  meekly  yielded  in 
the  hope  that  something  might  turn  up  to  prevent  it.  And 
it  did. 

The  winter  of  1851  will  long  be  remembered  in  the  foot 
hills.  The  snow  lay  deep  on  the  Sierras,  and  every  moun 
tain  creek  became  a  river,  and  every  river  a  lake.  Each 
gorge  and  gulch  was  transformed  into  a  tumultuous  water 
course  that  descended  the  hillsides,  tearing  down  giant  trees 
and  scattering  its  drift  and  debris  along  the  plain.  Red 
Dog  had  been  twice  under  water,  and  Roaring  Camp  had 
been  forewarned.  "  Water  put  the  gold  into  them  gulches," 


.'58  THE    LUCK    OF    KOAKIXU    CAM  I' 

said  Stumpy.  "  It  's  been  here  once  and  will  lie  hero  again  !  " 
And  that  night  the  Xorth  Kork  suddenly  leaped  over  its 
banks  and  swept  up  the  triangular  valley  of  Roaring  Camp. 

In  the  confusion  of  nulling  water,  crashing  trees,  and 
crackling  tiniher,  and  the  darkness  which  seemed  to  flow 
with  the  water  and  Llot  out  the  fair  valley,  but  little  could 
be  done  to  collect  the  scattered  camp.  \\  hen  the  morning 
broke,  the  cabin  of  Stumpy,  nearest  the  river-bank,  was 
gone.  Higher  up  the  gulch  they  found  the  body  of  its  un 
lucky  owner;  but  the  pride,  the  hope,  the  joy.  The'  Luck, 
of  Roaring  Camp  had  disappeared.  They  were  returning 
with  sad  hearts  when  a  shout  from  the  hank  recalled  them. 

It  was  a  relief-boat  from  down  the  river.  They  had 
picked  up,  they  said,  a  man  and  an  infant,  nearly  exhausted, 
about  two  miles  below.  Did  anybody  know  them,  and 
diil  they  belong  hen;  ? 

It  needed  but  a  glance  to  show  them  Kentuck  lying 
there,  cruelly  crushed  and  bruised,  but  still  holding  The 
Luck  of  Roaring  Camp  in  his  arms.  As  they  bent  over  the 
strangely  assorted  pair,  they  saw  that  the  child  was  cold 
and  pulseless.  "  He  is  dead,"  said  one.  Kentuck  opened 
his  eyes.  "  Dead  ?  "  ho  repeated  feebly.  "  Yes,  my  man, 
and  you  are  dying  too."  A  smile  lit  the  eyes  of  the  expir 
ing  Kentuck.  "  Dying  !  "  he  repeated  ;  "  he  's  a-taking 
me  with  him.  Tell  the  boys  I  've  got  The  Luck  with  me 
now  ;  "  and  the  strong  man,  clinging  to  the  frail  babe  as  a 
drowning  man  is  said  to  cling  to  a  straw,  drifted  away  into 
the  shadowy  river  that  Hows  forever  to  the  unknown  soa. 


THE  OUTCASTS   OF   POKER  FLAT 

As  Mr.  John  Oakhurst,  gambler,  stepped  into  the  main 
street  of  Poker  Flat  on  the  morning  of  the  23d  of  Novem 
ber,  1850,  he  was  conscious  of  a  change  in  its  moral  atmos 
phere  since  the  preceding  night.  Two  or  three  men,  con 
versing  earnestly  together,  ceased  as  he  approached,  and 
exchanged  significant  glances.  There  was  a  Sabbath  lull 
in  the  air,  which,  in  a  settlement  unused  to  Sabbath  in 
fluences,  looked  ominous. 

Mr.  Oakhurst's  ealm,  handsome  face  betrayed  small  con 
cern  in  these  indications.  Whether  he  was  conscious  of 
any  predisposing  cause  was  another  question.  "  I  reckon 
they're  after  somebody,"  he  reflected;  "likely  it's  me." 
He  returned  to  his  pocket  the  handkerchief  with  whieh  he 
had  been  whipping  away  the  red  dust  of  Poker  Flat  from 
his  neat  boots,  and  quietly  discharged  his  mind  of  any 
further  conjecture. 

In  point  of  fact,  Poker  Flat  was  "  after  somebody."  It 
had  lately  suffered  the  loss  of  several  thousand  dollars,  two 
valuable  horses,  and  a  prominent  citizen.  It  was  experi 
encing  a  spasm  of  virtuous  reaction,  quite  as  lawless  and 
ungovernable  as  any  of  the  acts  that  had  provoked  it.  A 
secret  committee  had  determined  to  rid  the  town  of  all  im 
proper  persons.  This  was  done  permanently  in  regard  of 
two  men  who  were  then  hanging  from  the  boughs  of  a 
sycamore  in  the  gulch,  and  temporarily  in  the  banishment 
of  certain  other  objectionable  characters.  I  regret  to  say 
that  some  of  these  were  ladies.  It  is  but  due  to  the  sex, 
however,  to  state  that  their  impropriety  was  professional, 


•Id  THE    OUTCASTS    OF    FOKEIi    FLAT 

and  it  was  only  in  such  easily  established  standards  of  evil 
that  Poker  Flat  ventured  to  sit  in  judgment. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  right  in  supposing  that  he  was  in 
cluded  in  this  category.  A  few  of  the  committee  had 
urged  hanging  him  as  a  possible  example  and  a  sure 
method  of  reimbursing  themselves  from  his  pockets  of  the 
sums  he  had  won  from  them.  "  It  's  agin  justice,"  said 
Jim  Wheeler,  "  to  let  this  yer  young  man  from  Roaring 
Camp  —  an  entire  stranger  —  carry  away  our  money.''  P>ut 
a  crude  sentiment  of  equity  residing  in  the  breasts  of  those 
who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to  win  from  Mr.  Oakhurst 
overruled  this  narrower  local  prejudice. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  received  his  sentence  with  philosophic 
calmness,  none  the  less  coolly  that  he  was  aware  of  the 
hesitation  of  his  judges.  He  was  too  much  of  a  gambler 
not  to  accept  fate.  With  him  life  was  at  best  an  uncertain 
game,  and  he  recognized  the  usual  percentage  in  favor  of 
the  dealer. 

A  body  °f  armed  men  accompanied  the  deported  wicked 
ness  of  1'oker  Flat  to  the  outskirts  of  the  settlement. 
Besides  Mr.  Oakhurst,  who  was  known  to  be  a  coolly  des 
perate  man,  and  for  whose  intimidation  the  armed  escort 
was  intended,  the  expatriated  party  consisted  of  a  young 
woman  familiarly  known  as  ''The  Duchess;"  another  who 
had  won  the  title  of  "Mother  Shipton  ;  "  and  "  I'ncle 
Hilly,''  a  suspected  sluice-robber  and  confirmed  drunkard. 
The  cavalcade  provoked  no  comments  from  the  spectators, 
nor  was  any  word  uttered  by  the  escort.  Only  when  the 
gulch  which  marked  the  uttermost  limit  of  "Poker  Flat  was 
reached,  the  leader  spoke  briefly  and  to  the  point.  The 
exiles  were  forbidden  to  return  at  the  peril  of  their  lives. 

As  the  escort  disappeared,  their  pent-up  feelings  found 
vent  in  a  few  hysterical  tears  from  the  Duchess,  some  bad 
language  from  Mother  Shipton,  and  a  Parthian  volley  of 
expletives  from  Cncle  P>il)y.  The  philosophic  Oakhurst 


THE    OUTCASTS    OF    POKER   FLAT  41 

alone  remained  silent.  He  listened  calmly  to  Mother 
Shipton's  desire  to  cut  somebody's  heart  out,  to  the 
repeated  statements  of  the  Duchess  that  she  would  die  in 
the  road,  and  to  the  alarming  oaths  that  seemed  to  be 
bumped  out  of  Uncle  Billy  as  he  rode  forward.  With  the 
easy  good  humor  characteristic  of  his  class,  he  insisted 
upon  exchanging  his  own  riding-horse,  "  Five-Spot,"  for 
the  sorry  mule  which  the  Duchess  rode.  But  even  this 
act  did  not  draw  the  party  into  any  closer  sympathy.  The 
young  woman  readjusted  her  somewhat  draggled  plumes 
with  a  feeble,  faded  coquetry  ;  Mother  Bhipton  eyed  the 
possessor  of  "  Five-Spot "  with  malevolence,  and  Uncle 
Billy  included  the  whole  party  in  one  sweeping  anathema. 

The  road  to  Sandy  Bar  —  a  camp  that,  not  having  as  yet 
experienced  the  regenerating  influences  of  Poker  Flat,  con 
sequently  seemed  to  offer  some  invitation  to  the  emigrants 
—  lay  over  a  steep  mountain  range.  It  was  distant  a  day's 
severe  travel.  In  that  advanced  season  the  party  soon 
passed  out  of  the  moist,  temperate  regions  of  the  foothills 
into  the  dry,  cold,  bracing  air  of  the  Sierras.  The  trail 
was  narrow  and  difficult.  At  noon  the  Duchess,  rolling 
out  of  her  saddle  upon  the  ground,  declared  her  intention 
of  going  no  farther,  and  the  party  halted. 

The  spot  was  singularly  wild  and  impressive.  A  wooded 
amphitheatre,  surrounded  on  three  sides  by  precipitous 
cliffs  of  naked  granite,  sloped  gently  toward  the  crest  of 
another  precipice  that  overlooked  the  valley.  It  was,  un 
doubtedly,  the  most  suitable  spot  for  a  camp,  had  camping 
been  advisable.  But  Mr.  Oakhurst  knew  that  scarcely  half 
the  journey  to  Sandy  Bar  was  accomplished,  and  the  party 
were  not  equipped  or  provisioned  for  delay.  This  fact  he 
pointed  out  to  his  companions  curtly,  with  a  philosophic 
commentary  on  the  folly  of  "  throwing  up  their  hand  before 
the  game  was  played  out."  But  they  were  furnished  with 
liquor,  which  in  this  emergency  stood  them  in  place  of  food, 


42  THE    OUTCASTS    OF    1'OKEIl    FLAT 

fuel,  rest,  and  prescience.  In  spite  of  his  remonstrances,  it 
was  nut  long  before  they  were  more  or  less  under  its  influ 
ence.  I'ncle  Hilly  passed  rapidly  from  a  bellicose  state  into 
one  of  stupor,  the  I)uche>s  became  maudlin,  and  Mother 
Shipton  snored.  Mr.  Oakhurst  alone  remained  erect,  lean 
ing  against  a  rock,  calmly  surveying  them. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  did  not  drink.  It  interfered  with  a  pro 
fession  which  required  coolness,  impassiveness,  and  presence 
of  mind,  and,  in  his  own  language,  he  ''couldn't  allord  it.1' 
As  he  gazed  at  his  recumbent  fellow  exiles,  the  loneliness 
begotten  of  his  pariah  trade,  his  habits  of  life,  his  very  vices, 
for  the  first  time  seriously  oppressed  him.  lie  bestirred 
himself  in  dusting  his  black  clothes,  washing  his  hands  and 
face,  and  other  acts  characteristic  of  his  studiously  neat 
habits,  and  for  a  moment  forgot  his  annoyance.  The 
thought  of  deserting  his  weaker  and  more  pitiable  compan 
ions  never  perhaps  occurred  to  him.  Vet  he  could  not  help 
feeling  the  want  of  that  excitement  which,  singularly 
enough,  was  most  conducive  to  that  calm  equanimity  for 
which  he  was  notorious.  He  looked  at  the  gloomy  walls 
that  rose  a  thousand  feet  sheer  above  the  circling  pines 
around  him,  at  the  sky  ominously  clouded,  at  the  valley 
below,  already  deepening  into  shadow  ;  and,  doing  so,  sud 
denly  he  heard  his  own  name  called. 

A  horseman  slowly  ascended  the  trail.  In  the  fresh, 
open  face  of  the  newcomer  Mr.  Oakhurst  recognized  Tom 
Simson,  otherwise  known  as  "The  Innocent,"  of  Sandy 
Bar.  He,  had  met  him  some  months  before  over  a  '•  little 
game,"  and  had,  with  perfect  equanimity,  won  the  entire 
fortune — amounting  to  some  forty  dollars  —  of  that  guile 
less  youth.  After  the  game  was  finished,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
drew  the.  youthful  speculator  behind  the  door  and  thus  ad 
dressed  him  :  "  Tommy,  you  're  a  good  little  man,  but  you 
can't  gamble  worth  a  cent.  Don't  try  it  over  again."  lie 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKEK   FLAT  4«'j 

then  handed  him  his  money  back,  pushed  him  gently  from 
the  room,  and  so  made  a  devoted  slave  of  Tom  ISimson. 

There  was  a  remembrance  of  this  in  his  boyish  and  en 
thusiastic  greeting  of  Mr.  Oakhurst.  He  had  started,  he 
said,  to  go  to  Poker  Flat  to  seek  his  fortune.  "  Alone  ?  " 
No,  not  exactly  alone ;  in  fact  (a  giggle),  he  had  run  away 
with  Piney  Woods.  Didn't  Mr.  Oakhurst  remember  Piney  ? 
She  that  used  to  wait  on  the  table  at  the  Temperance 
House  ?  They  had  been  engaged  a  long  time,  but  old 
Jake  Woods  had  objected,  and  so  they  had  run  away,  and 
were  going  to  Poker  Flat  to  be  married,  and  here  they 
were.  And  they  were  tired  out,  and  how  lucky  it  was  they 
had  found  a  place  to  camp,  and  company.  All  this  the 
Innocent  delivered  rapidly,  while  Piney,  a  stout,  comely 
damsel  of  fifteen,  emerged  from  behind  the  pine-tree, 
where  she  had  been  blushing  unseen,  and  rode  to  the  side 
of  her  lover. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  seldom  troubled  himself  with  sentiment, 
still  less  with  propriety  ;  but  he  had  a  vague  idea  that  the 
situation  was  not  fortunate.  He  retained,  however,  his 
presence  of  mind  sufficiently  to  kick  Uncle  Billy,  who  was 
about  to  say  something,  and  Uncle  Billy  was  sober  enough 
to  recognize  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  kick  a  superior  power  that 
would  not  bear  trifling.  He  then  endeavored  to  dissuade 
Tom  Simson  from  delaying  further,  but  in  vain.  He  even 
pointed  out  the  fact  that  there  was  no  provision,  nor  means 
of  making  a  camp.  But,  unluckily,  the  Innocent  met  this 
objection  by  assuring  the  party  that  he  was  provided  with 
an  extra  mule  loaded  with  provisions,  and  by  the  discovery 
of  a  rude  attempt  at  a  log  house  near  the  trail.  "  Piney 
can  stay  with  Mrs.  Oakhurst,"  said  the  Innocent,  pointing 
to  the  Duchess,  "and  I  can  shift  for  myself." 

Nothing  but  Mr.  Oakhurst's  admonishing  foot  saved 
Uncle  Billy  from  bursting  into  a  roar  of  laughter.  As  it 


41  TIIF.    OUTCASTS    <>K    1'OKF.l;    FLAT 

was,  ho  felt  compelled  to  retire  up  the  canon  until  he  could 
recover  his  gravity.  There  he  confided  the  joke  to  the  tall 
{line-trees,  with  many  slaps  of  his  leg,  contortions  of  his 
face,  and  the  usual  profanitv.  I!ut  when  he  returned  to 
the  party,  he  found  them  seated  hy  a  fire  —  for  the  air  had 
grown  strangely  chill  and  the  sky  overcast  —  in  apparently 
ainicahle  conversation.  1'iney  was  actually  talking  in  an 
impulsive  girlish  fashion  to  the  Duchess,  who  was  listening 
with  an  interest  and  animation  she  had  not  shown  for 
many  days.  The  Innocent  was  holding  forth,  apparently 
with  eijual  effect,  to  .Mr.  Oakhurst  and  .Mother  Shipton, 
who  was  actually  relaxing  into  amiability.  '•  Is  this  yer  a 
d — d  picnic  '.'  "  said  Uncle  Billy,  with  inward  scorn,  as  he 
surveyed  the  sylvan  group,  the  glancing  firelight,  and  the 
tethered  animals  in  the  foreground.  Suddenly  an  idea 
mingled  with  the  alcolwlic  fumes  that  disturbed  his  brain. 
It  was  apparently  of  a  jocular  nature,  for  he  felt  impelled 
to  slap  his  leg  again  and  cram  his  list  into  his  mouth. 

As  the  shadows  crept  slowly  up  the  mountain,  a  slight 
breeze  rocked  the  tops  of  the  pine-trees  and  moaned 
through  their  long  and  gloomy  aisles.  The  ruined  cabin, 
patched  and  covered  with  pine  boughs,  was  set  apart  for  the 
ladies.  As  the  lovers  parted,  they  unaffectedly  exchanged 
a  kiss,  so  honest  and  sincere  that  it  might  have  been  heard 
above  the  swaying  pines.  The  frail  Duchess  and  the 
malevolent  Mother  Shipton  were  probably  too  stunned  to 
remark  upon  this  last  evidence  of  simplicity,  and  so  turned 
without  a  word  to  the  hut.  The  lire  was  replenished,  tin 
men  lay  down  before  the  door,  and  in  a  few  minutes  wer." 
asleep. 

Mr.  Oakhurst  was  a  light  sleeper.  Toward  mornin<_r  lie 
awoke  benumbed  and  cold.  As  he  stirred  the  dving  fire, 
the  wind,  which  was  now  blowing  strongly,  brought  to  his 
cheek  that  which  caused  the  blood  to  leave  it,  —  snow  ! 

He  started   to   his  feet  with   the   intention  of  awakening 


THE    OUTCASTS    OF    POKER    FLAT  45 

the  sleepers,  for  there  was  no  time  to  lose.  But  turning  to 
where  Uncle  Billy  had  been  lying,  he  found  him  gone.  A 
suspicion  leaped  to  his  brain,  and  a  curse  to  his  lips.  He 
ran  to  the  spot  where  the  mules  had  been  tethered  —  they 
were  no  longer  there.  The  tracks  were  already  rapidly  dis 
appearing  in  the  snow. 

The  momentary  excitement  brought  Mr.  Oakhurst  back 
to  the  fire  with  his  usual  calm.  He  did  not  waken  the 
sleepers.  The  Innocent  slumbered  peacefully,  with  a  smile 
on  his  good-humored,  freckled  face  ;  the  virgin  1'iney 
slept  beside  her  frailer  sisters  as  sweetly  as  though  attended 
by  celestial  guardians  ;  and  Mr.  Oakhurst,  drawing  his 
blanket  over  his  shoulders,  stroked  his  mustaches  and 
waited  for  the  dawn.  It  came  slowly  in  a  whirling  mist 
of  snowflakes  that  dazzled  and  confused  the  eye.  What 
could  be  seen  of  the  landscape  appeared  magically  changed. 
He  looked  over  the  valley,  and  summed  up  the  present 
and  future  in  two  words,"  Snowed  in  !  " 

A  careful  inventory  of  the  provisions,  which,  fortunately 
for  the  party,  had  been  stored  within  the  hut,  and  so 
escaped  the  felonious  fingers  of  Uncle  Billy,  disclosed  the 
fact  that  with  care  and  prudence  they  might  last  ten  days 
longer.  "That  is,"  said  Mr.  Oakhurst  sotto  voce  to  the 
Innocent,  "  if  you  're  willing  to  board  us.  If  you  ain't  — 
and  perhaps  you  'd  better  not  —  you  can  wait  till  Uncle 
Billy  gets  back  with  provisions."  For  some  occult  reason, 
Mr.  Oakhurst  could  not  bring  himself  to  disclose  Uncle 
Billy's  rascality,  and  so  offered  the  hypothesis  that  he  had 
wandered  from  the  camp  and  had  accidentally  stampeded  the 
animals.  He  dropped  a  warning  to  the  Duchess  and 
Mother  Shipton,  who  of  course  knew  the  facts  of  their 
associate's  defection.  "  They  '11  find  out  the  truth  about  us 
all  when  they  find  out  anything,"  he  added  significantly, 
"  and  there  's  no  good  frightening  them  now." 

Tom  Simson  not  only  put  all  his  worldly  store  at  the 


46  THE    OUTCASTS    OF    1'OKEK    FLAT 

disposal  of  Mr.  Oakhurst,  but  seemed  to  enjoy  the  prospect 
of  their  enforced  seclusion.  "  We  '11  have  a  good  camp  for 
a  week,  and  then  the  .snow  '11  melt,  and  we  '11  all  go  hack 
together."'  The  cheerful  gayety  of  the  young  man  and 
Mr.  Oakhurst's  calm  infected  the  others.  The  Innocent, 
with  the  aid  of  pine  houghs,  extemporized  a  thatch  for  the 
rootless  cahin,  and  the  Duchess  directed  Piney  in  the, 
rearrangement  of  the  interior  with  a  taste  and  tact  that 
opened  the  blue  eyes  of  that  provincial  maiden  to  their 
fullest  extent.  '*  I  reckon  now  you  "re  used  to  tine  things  at 
Poker  Flat,"  said  Piney.  The  Duchess  turned  away  sharply 
to  conceal  something  that  reddened  her  cheeks  through 
their  professional  tint,  and  Mother  Shipton  requested  Piuey 
not  to  "  chatter."  But  when  Mr.  Oakhurst  returned  from 
a  weary  search  for  the  trail,  he  heard  the  sound  of  happy 
laughter  echoed  from  the  rocks.  lie  stopped  in  some 
alarm,  and  his  thoughts  first  naturally  reverted  to  the 
whiskey,  which  he  had  prudently  cached.  "  And  yet  it 
don't  somehow  sound  like  whiskey,"  said  the  gambler.  It 
was  not  until  he  caught  sight  of  the  blazing  lire  through 
the  still  blinding  storm,  and  the  group  around  it,  that  he 
settled  to  the  conviction  that  it  was  "  square  fun." 

Whether  Mr.  Oakhurst  had  cacheM  his  cards  with  the 
whiskey  as  something  debarred  the  free  access  of  the  com 
munity,  I  cannot  say.  It  was  certain  that,  in  Mother 
Shipton's  words,  he  "didn't  say  'cards'  once''  during  that 
evening.  Haply  the  time  was  beguiled  by  an  accordion, 
produced  somewhat  ostentatiously  by  Tom  Simson  from 
his  pack.  Notwithstanding  some  ditliculties  attending  the 
manipulation  of  this  instrument,  Piney  Woods  managed  to 
pluck  several  reluctant  melodies  from  its  keys,  to  an  accom 
paniment  by  the  Innocent  on  a  pair  of  bone  castanets. 
P>ut  the  crowning  festivity  of  the  evening  was  reached  in  a 
rude  camp-meeting  hymn,  which  the  lovers,  joining  hands, 
sang  with  great  earnestness  and  vociferation.  1  fear  that  a 


THE    OUTCASTS    OF    POKEK    FLAT  47 

certain  defiant  tone  and  Covenanter's  swing  to  its  chorus, 
rather  than  any  devotional  quality,  caused  it  speedily  to 
infect  the  others,  who  at  last  joined  in  the  refrain  :  — 

"I  'in  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  tlie  Lord, 
And  I  'm  bound  to  die  in  His  army." 

The  pines  rocked?  the  storm  eddied  and  whirled  above  the 
miserable  group,  and  the  flames  of  their  altar  leaped  heaven 
ward,  as  if  in  token  of  the  vow. 

At  midnight  the  storm  abated,  the  rolling  clouds  parted, 
and  the  stars  glittered  keenly  above  the  sleeping  camp. 
Mr.  Oakhurst,  whose  professional  habits  had  enabled  him 
to  live  on  the  smallest  possible  amount  of  sleep,  in  dividing 
the  watch  with  Tom  Simson  somehow  managed  to  take 
upon  himself  the  greater  part  of  that  duty.  He  excused 
himself  to  the  Innocent  by  saying  that  he  had  "  often  been 
a  week  without  sleep."  "  Doing  what  ? "  asked  Tom. 
"  Poker  !  "  replied  Oakhurst  sententiously.  "  When  a  man 
gets  a  streak  of  luck, — nigger-luck, — he  don't  get  tired. 
The  luck  gives  in  first.  Luck,"  continued  the  gambler 
reflectively,  "  is  a  mighty  queer  thing.  All  you  know 
about  it  for  certain  is  that  it 's  bound  to  change.  And  it 's 
finding  out  when  it 's  going  to  change  that  makes  you. 
We  've  had  a  streak  of  bad  luck  since  we  left  Poker  Flat,  — 
you  come  along,  and  slap  you  get  into  it,  too.  If  you  can 
hold  your  cards  right  along  you  're  all  right.  For,"  added 
the  gambler,  with  cheerful  irrelevance  — 

"  '  I  'm  proud  to  live  in  the  service  of  the  Lord, 
And  I  'in  bound  to  die  in  His  army.'  " 

The  third  day  came,  and  the  sun,  looking  through  the 
white-curtained  valley,  saw  the  outcasts  divide;  their  slowly 
decreasing  store  of  provisions  for  the  morning  meal.  It 
was  one  of  the  peculiarities  of  that  mountain  climate  that 
its  rays  diffused  a  kindly  warmth  over  the  wintry  landscape, 
as  if  in  regretful  commiseration  of  the  past.  Put  it  revealed 
drift  on  drift  of  snow  piled  high  around  the  hut,  —  a  hope- 


4S  THK    OUTCASTS    OK    1'OKKU    FLAT 

less,  uncharted,  trackless  sea  of  \vhite  lying  below  the  rocky 
shores  to  which  the  castaways  still  clung.  Through  the 
marvelously  clear  air  the  sniuke  of  the  pastoral  village  of 
1'oker  Flat  rose  miles  away.  Mother  Shipton  saw  it.  and 
from  a  remote  pinnacle  of  her  rocky  fastness  hurled  in  that 
direction  a  final  malediction.  It  WHS  her  last  vituperative 
attempt,  and  perhaps  for  that  reason  was  invested  with  a 
certain  degree  of  sublimity.  It.  did  her  good,  she  privately- 
informed  the  Duchess.  "Just  you  go  out  there  and  cuss, 
and  see.''  She  then  set  herself  to  the  task  of  amusing  "  the 
chihl,"  ad  she  and  the  Duchess  were  pleased  to  call  Piney. 
Piney  was  no  chicken,  but  it  was  a  soothing  and  original 
theory  of  the  pair  thus  to  account  for  the  fact  that  .she 
didn't  swear  and  wasn't  improper. 

When  night  crept  up  again  through  the  gorges,  the  reedy 
notes  of  the  accordion  rose  and  fell  in  titful  spasms  and 
long-drawn  gasps  by  the  flickering  campfire.  But  music 
failed  to  iill  entirely  the  aching  void  left  by  insullicient 
food,  and  a  new  diversion  was  proposed  by  Piney,  —  story 
telling.  Neither  Mr.  Oakhurst  nor  his  female  companions 
caring  to  relate  their  personal  experiences,  this  plan  would 
have  failed  too,  but  for  the  Innocent.  Some  months  before 
he  had  chanced  upon  a  stray  copy  of  Mr.  Pope's  ingenious 
translation  of  the  Iliad.  He  now  proposed  to  narrate  the 
principal  incidents  of  that  poem  —  having  thoroughly  mas 
tered  the  argument  and  fairly  forgotten  the  words  —  in  the 
current  vernacular  of  Sandy  P>ar.  And  so  for  the  rest  of 
that  night  the  Homeric  demigods  again  walked  the  earth. 
Trojan  bully  and  wily  (I reek  wrestled  in  the  winds,  and  the 
great  pines  in  the  canon  seemed  to  how  to  the  wrath  of  the 
son  of  IVh'Us.  Mr.  Oakhurst  li.-tened  with  quiet  satisfaction. 
Most  especially  was  he  interested  in  the  fate  of  "  Ash-heels,'' 
as  the  Innocent  persisted  in  denominating  the  "swift-footed 
Achilles." 

So,  with  small    food   and  much  of   Homer   and  the  acror- 


THE    OUTCASTS    OF    POKER    FLAT  49 

dion,  a  week  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  outcasts.  Tha 
sun  again  forsook  them,  and  again  from  leaden  skies  the 
snowfiakes  were  sifted  over  the  land.  Day  by  day  closer 
around  them  drew  the  snowy  circle,  until  at  last  they  looked 
from  their  prison  over  drifted  walls  of  dazzling  white,  tliat 
towered  twenty  feet  above  their  heads.  It  became  more 
and  more  difficult  to  replenish  their  fires,  even  from  the 
fallen  trees  beside  them,  now  half  hidden  in  the  drifts. 
And  yet  no  one  complained.  The  lovers  turned  from  the 
dreary  prospect  and  looked  into  each  other's  eyes,  and  were 
happy.  Mr.  Oakhurst  settled  himself  coolly  to  the  losing 
game  before  him.  The  Duchess,  more  cheerful  than  she 
had  been,  assumed  the  care  of  Piney.  Only  Mother  Ship- 
ton  —  once  the  strongest  of  the  party  —  seemed  to  sicken 
and  fade.  At  midnight  on  the  tenth  day  she  called  Oak- 
hurst  to  her  side.  "  I  'm  going,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  of 
querulous  weakness,  "  but  don't  say  anything  about  it. 
Don't  waken  the  kids.  Take  the  bundle  from  under  my 
head,  and  open  it."  Mr.  Oakhurst  did  so.  It  contained 
Mother  Shipton's  rations  for  the  last  week,  untouched. 
"  Give  'em  to  the  child,"  she  said,  pointing  to  the  sleeping 
Piney.  "  You  've  starved  yourself,"  said  the  gambler. 
"  That 's  what  they  call  it,"  said  the  woman  querulously,  as 
she  lay  down  again,  and,  turning  her  face  to  the  wall,  passed 
quietly  away. 

The  accordion  and  the  bones  were  put  aside  that  day, 
and  Homer  was  forgotten.  When  the  body  of  Mother 
Shipton  had  been  committed  to  the  snow,  Mr.  Oakhurst 
took  the  Innocent  aside,  and  showed  him  a  pair  of  snow- 
shoes,  which  he  had  fashioned  from  the  old  pack-saddle. 
"  There  "s  one  chance  in  a  hundred  to  save  her  yet/'  he  said, 
pointing  to  Piney;  "but  it's  there,"  he  added,  pointing 
toward  Poker  Flat.  "If  you  can  reach  there  in  two  day* 
she  's  safe."  "  And  you  ?  "  asked  Tom  Simson.  "  I  '11  stay 
here,"  was  the  curt  reply. 


50  THE    OUTCASTS    OF    POKER    FLAT 

The  lovers  parted  with  a  long  embrace.  '•  You  are  not 
going,  too?"  said  the  Duchess,  as  she  saw  Mr.  Oakhurst 
apparently  waiting  to  accompany  him.  "  As  far  as  the 
canon,"  he,  replied.  He  turned  suddenly  and  ki.-.-ed  the 
Duchess,  leaving  her  pallid  face  allame,  and  her  trembling 
limbs  rigid  with  amazement. 

Night  came,  but  not  Mr.  Oakhurst.  It  brought  the  storm 
again  and  the  whirling  snow.  Then  the  Duchess,  feeding 
the  tire,  found  that  some  one  had  quietly  piled  beside  the 
hut  enough  fuel  to  last  a  few  days  longer.  The  tears  rose 
to  her  eyes,  but  she  hid  then:  from  Pinev. 

The  women  slept  bu;  little.  In  the  mcining.  louk::.g 
into  each  other's  faces,  they  read  their  fate.  Neither  spoke, 
but  Piney,  accepting  the  position  of  the  stronger,  drew  near 
and  placed  her  arm  around  the  Duchess's  waist.  They 
kept  this  attitude  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  That  night  the 
storm  reached  its  greatest  fury,  and,  rending  asunder  the 
protecting  vines,  invaded  the  very  hut. 

Toward  morning  they  found  themselves  unable  to  feed 
the  tire,  which  gradually  died  away.  As  the  embers 
slowly  blackened,  the  Duchess  crept  closer  to  Piney,  and 
broke  the  silence  of  many  hours  :  "  Piney,  can  you  pray  '.'  " 
"No,  dear,''  said  Piney  simply.  The  Duchess,  without 
knowing  exactly  why,  felt  relieved,  and,  putting  her  heud 
upon  Piney's  shoulder,  spoke  no  more.  And  so  reclining, 
the  younger  and  purer  pillowing  the  head  of  her  soiled  sis 
ter  upon  her  virgin  breast,  they  fell  asleep. 

The  wind  lulled  as  if  it  feared  to  waken  them.  Feath 
ery  drifts  of  snow,  shaken  from  the  long  pine  boughs.  Hew 
like  white  winged  birds,  and  settled  about  them  as  they 
slept.  The  moon  through  the  rifted  clouds  looked  down 
upon  what  had  been  the  camp.  Put  all  human  stain,  all 
trace  of  earthly  travail,  was  hidden  beneath  the  spotless 
mantle  mercifully  Hung  from  above. 

They  slept  all  that  day  ami  the  next,  nor  did  they  waken 


THE   OUTCASTS   OF   POKER   FLAT  51 

when  voices  and  footsteps  broke  the  silence  of  the  camp. 
And  when  pitying  fingers  brushed  the  snow  from  their 
wan  faces,  you  could  scarcely  have  told  from  the  equal 
peace  that  dwelt  upon  them  which  was  she  that  had  sinned. 
Even  the  law  of  Poker  Flat  recognized  this,  and  turned 
away,  leaving  them  still  locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

But  at  the  head  of  the  gulch,  on  one  of  the  largest  pine- 
trees,  they  found  the  deuce  of  clubs  pinned  to  the  bark 
with  a  bowie-knife.  It  bore  the  following,  written  in  pen 
cil  in  a  firm  hand  :  — 

t 

BENEATH  THIS  TREE 

LIES  THE  BODY 

OF 

JOHN  OAKHURST, 

WHO    STRUCK  A  STREAK  OF  BAD  LUCK. 
ON  THE  23  D  OF  NOVEMBER  1850, 

AND 

HANDED  IN  HIS  CHECKS 
ON  THE  7TH  DECEMBER,  1850. 


And  pulseless  and  cold,  with  a  Derringer  by  his  side  and  a 
bullet  in  his  heart,  though  still  calm  as  in  life,  beneath  the 
snow  lay  he  who  was  at  once  the  strongest  and  yet  the 
weakest  of  the  outcasts  of  Poker  Flat. 


TENNESSEE'S    PARTNER 

I  no  not  tliink  tliat  we  ever  knew  his  mil  name.  Our 
ignorance  of  it  certainly  never  gave  us  any  social  inconven 
ience,  for  at  Sandy  Par  in  IS.")- 1  most  men  were  christened 
anew.  Sometimes  these  appellatives  were  derived  iron, 
some  distinctiveness  of  dress,  as  in  the  case  of  "  Dungaree 
Jack  "  ;  or  from  some  peculiarity  of  habit,  as  shown  in 
"  Saleratus  Hill,"  so  called  from  an  undue  proportion  of 
that  chemical  in  his  daily  hivad  ;  or  from  some  unlucky 
slip,  as  exhibited  in  "  The  Iron  Pirate,"  a  mild,  inoil'eiisivt! 
man.  who  earned  that  baleful  title  by  his  unfortunate  mis 
pronunciation  of  the  term  "iron  pyrites."  Perhaps  this 
may  have  been  the  beginning  of  a  rude  heraldry  ;  but  J  am 
constrained  to  think  that  it  was  because  a  man's  real  name 
in  that  day  rested  solely  upon  his  own  unsupported  state 
ment.  "Call  yourself  Clitlord.  do  you'.'"  said  Poston, 
addressing  a  timid  newcomer  with  infinite  scorn  ;  "  hell  is 
full  of  Mich  ( 'lill'ords  !  "  He  then  introduced  the  unfor 
tunate  man,  whose  name  happened  to  be  really  ('liil'ord.  as 
'*  Jaybird  Charley,"  —  an  unhallowed  inspiration  of  the 
moment  that  clung  to  him  ever  after. 

I  Jut  to  return  to  Tennessee's  Partner,  whom  we  never 
knew  by  any  other  than  this  relative  title.  That  he  had 
ever  existed  as  a  separate  and  distinct  individuality  we  onlv 
learned  later.  It  seems  that  in  ]*.">:',  he  left  Poker  Flat  to 
go  to  San  Francisco,  ostensibly  to  procure  a  wife.  lie 
never  got  any  farther  than  Stockton.  At  that  place  he  wa.s 
attracted  by  a  young  person  who  waited  upon  the  table  at 
the  hotel  where  he  took  his  meals.  One  morning  ho  said 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  53 

something  to  her  which  caused  her  to  smile  not  unkindly, 
to  somewhat  coquettishly  break  a  plate  of  toast  over  his 
upturned,  serious,  simple  face,  and  to  retreat  to  the  kitchen. 
lie  followed  her,  and  emerged  a  few  moments  later,  covered 
with  more  toast  and  victory.  That  day  week  they  were  mar 
ried  by  a  justice  of  the  peace,  and  returned  to  Poker  Flat. 
I  am  aware  that  something  more  might  be  made  of  this  epi 
sode,  but  I  prefer  to  tell  it  as  it  was  current  at  Sandy  P>ar, 
—  in  the  gulches  and  bar-rooms,  —  where  all  sentiment  was 
modified  by  a  strong  sense  of  humor. 

Of  their  married  felicity  but  little  is  known,  perhaps  for 
the  reason  that  Tennessee,  then  living  with  his  partner,  one 
day  took  occasion  to  say  something  to  the  bride  on  his  own 
account,  at  which,  it  is  said,  she  smiled  not  unkindly  and 
chastely  retreated,  —  this  time  as  far  as  Marysville,  where 
Tennessee  followed  her,  and  where  they  went  to  house 
keeping  without  the  aid  of  a  justice  of  the  peace.  Ten 
nessee's  Partner  took  the  loss  of  his  wife  simply  and  seri 
ously,  as  was  his  fashion.  But  to  everybody's  surprise, 
when  Tennessee  one  day  returned  from  Marysville,  without 
his  partner's  wife,  —  she  having  smiled  and  retreated  with 
somebody  else,  —  Tennessee's  Partner  was  the  first  man 
to  shake  his  hand  and  greet  him  with  affection.  The 
boys  who  had  gathered  in  the  canon  to  see  the  shooting 
were  naturally  indignant.  Their  indignation  might  have 
found  vent  in  sarcasm  but  for  a  certain  look  in  Tennessee's 
Partner's  eye  that  indicated  a  lack  of  humorous  appreciation. 
In  fact,  he  was  a  grave  man,  with  a  steady  application  to 
practical  detail  which  was  unpleasant  in  a  difficulty. 

Meanwhile  a  popular  feeling  against  Tennessee  had 
grown  up  on  the  P>ar.  He  was  known  to  be  a  gambler; 
he  was  suspected  to  be  a  thief.  In  these  suspicions  Ten 
nessee's  Partner  was  equally  compromised  ;  his  continued 
intimacy  with  Tennessee  after  the  affair  above  quoted  could 
only  be  accounted  for  on  the  hypothesis  of  a  copartnership 


:>\  TENNESSEE'S  PAKTNEK 

of  crime.  At  last  Tennessee's  guilt  became  flagrant.  One 
day  he  overtook  a  stranger  on  his  way  to  Red  Dog.  Tho 
stranger  afterward  related  that  Tennessee  beguiled  the  time 
with  interesting  anecdote  and  reminiscence,  but  illogieally 
concluded  the  interview  in  the  following  words:  "And 
now,  young  man,  I  '11  trouble  you  for  your  knife,  your 
pistols,  and  your  money.  You  see  your  weppings  might 
get  you  into  trouble,  at  Red  1  )o^.  and  your  money's  a 
temptation  to  the  evilly  disposed.  J  think  you  said  your 
address  was  San  Francisco.  1  shall  endeavor  to  call."  It 
may  be  stated  here  that  Tennessee  had  a  line  flow  of 
humor,  which  no  business  preoccupation  could  wholly  sul>- 
due. 

This  exploit  was  his  last.  Red  Dog  and  Sandy  Bar 
made  common  cause  against  the  highwayman.  Tennessee 
•was  hunted  in  very  much  the  same  fashion  as  his  prototype, 
the  gri/zly.  As  the  toils  closed  around  him,  he  made  a 
desperate  dash  through  the  l'>ar,  emptying  his  revolver  at 
the  crowd  before  the  Arcade  Saloon,  and  so  on  up  (Iriz/lv 
Canon  ;  but  at  its  farther  extremity  he  was  stopped  by  a 
small  man  on  a  gray  horse.  The  men  looked  at  each  other 
a  moment  in  silence.  Both  were  fearless,  lx>th  self-pos 
sessed  and  independent,  and  both  types  of  a  civilization 
that  in  the  seventeenth  century  would  have  been  called 
heroic,  but  in  the  nineteenth  simply  "  reckless." 

"  What  have  you  got  there  '.'  —  1  call."  said  Tennessee 
quietly. 

"  Tw«  bowers  and  an  ace."  said  the  stranger  as  quietlv, 
showing  two  revolvers  and  a  bowie-knife. 

"That  takes  me,"  returned  Tennessee;  and.  with  this 
gambler's  epigram,  he  threw  away  his  useless  pistol  and 
rode  back  with  his  captor. 

It  was  a  warm  night.  The  cool  bree/e  which  usually 
sprang  up  with  the  going  down  of  the  sun  behind  the 
chaparral-crested  mountain  was  that  evening  withheld  from 


TENNESSEE'S   PAitTNEK  55 

Sandy  Bar.  The  little  canon  was  stifling  with  heated 
resinous  odors,  and  the  decaying  driftwood  on  the  Bar  sent 
forth  faint  sickening  exhalations.  The  feverishness  of  day 
and  its  tierce  passions  still  filled  the  camp.  Lights  moved 
restlessly  along  the  bank  of  the  river,  striking  no  answering 
reflection  from  its  tawny  current.  Against  the  blackness 
of  the  pines  the  windows  of  the  old  loft  above  the  express- 
office  stood  out  staringly  bright  ;  and  through  their  curtain- 
less  panes  the  loungers  below  could  see  the.  forms  of  those 
who  wore  even  then  deciding  the  fate  of  Tennessee.  And 
above  all  this,  etched  on  the  dark  firmament,  rose  the 
Sierra,  remote  and  passionless,  crowned  with  remoter  pas 
sionless  stars. 

The  trial  of  Tennessee  was  conducted  as  fairly  as  was 
consistent  with  a  judge  and  jury  who  felt  themselves  to 
some  extent  obliged  to  justify,  in  their  verdict,  the  previous 
irregularities  of  arrest  and  indictment.  The  law  of  Sandy 
Bar  was  implacable,  but  not  vengeful.  The  excitement  and 
personal  feeling  of  the  chase  were  over;  with  Tennessee 
safe  in  their  hands,  they  were  ready  to  listen  patiently  to 
any  defense,  which  they  were  already  satisfied  was  insuffi 
cient.  There  being  no  doubt  in  their  own  minds,  they 
were  willing  to  give  the  prisoner  the  benefit  of  any  that 
might  exist.  Secure  in  the  hypothesis  that  he  ought  to  be 
hanged  on  general  principles,  they  indulged  him  with  more 
latitude  of  defense  than  his  reckless  hardihood  seemed  to 
ask.  The  Judge  appeared  to  he  more  anxious  than  the 
prisoner,  who,  otherwise  unconcerned,  evidently  took  a  grim 
pleasure  in  the  responsibility  he  had  created.  "  I  don't 
take  any  hand  in  this  yer  game,"  had  been  his  invariable 
but  good-humored  reply  to  all  questions.  The  Judge  — 
who  was  also  his  captor  —  for  a  moment  vaguely  regretted 
that  he  had  not  shot  him  "  on  sight  "  that  morning,  but 
presently  dismissed  this  human  weakness  as  unworthy  of 
the  judicial  mind.  Nevertheless,  when  there  was  a  tap  at 


o»i  TENNESSEE'S  I-AUTNEU 

the  door,  and  it  was  said  that  Tennessee's  Partner  was  thorp 
on  behalf  of  tlie  prisoner,  lie  was  admitted  at  once  without 
que.-tion.  1'erhaps  the  younger  ineiuliers  of  the  jnrv.  tn 
whom  the  proceedings  were  becoming  irksomely  thoughtf;;!, 
hailed  him  as  a  relief. 

For  he  was  not,  certainly,  an  imposing  figure.  Short  and 
stout,  with  a  square  face,  sunburned  into  a  preternatural 
redness,  clad  in  a  loose  duck  "juniper"  and  tnm.srrs 
streaked  and  splashed  with  red  soil,  his  aspect  under  any 
circumstances  would  have  been  quaint,  and  was  now  even 
ridiculous.  As  he  stooped  to  deposit  at  his  feet  a  heavy 
carpetbag  he  was  carrying,  it  became  obvious,  from  partially 
developed  legends  and  inscription?;,  that  the  material  with 
which  his  trousers  had  been  patched  had  been  originally  in 
tended  for  a  less  ambitious  covering.  Yet  he  advanced  with 
great  gravity,  and  after  shaking  the  hand  of  each  person  in 
the  room  with  labored  cordiality,  he  wiped  his  serious  per 
plexed  face  on  a  red  bandana  handkerchief,  a  shade  lighter 
than  his  complexion,  laid  his  powerful  hand  upon  the  table 
to  steady  himself,  and  thus  addressed  the  Judge:  — 

"  I  was  passin'  by,"  he  began,  by  way  of  apology,  ''  and 
I  thought  I  \1  just  step  in  and  see  how  things  was  gittin' 
on  with  Tennessee  thar,  — my  pardner.  Jt  's  a  hot  night. 
I  disremember  any  sich  weather  before  on  the  liar.'' 

He  paused  a  moment,  but  nobody  volunteering  any  other 
meteorological  recollection,  he  again  had  recourse  to  his 
pocket-handkerchief,  and  for  some  moments  mopped  his 
face  diligently. 

"  Have  you  anything  to  say  on  behalf  of  the  prisoner  '.'  :' 
?aid  the  Judge  finally. 

"  Thet  's  it,"  >aid  Tennessee's  Partner,  in  a  tone  of  relief. 
'•  I  come  yar  as  Tennessee's  pardner.  —  knowing  him  nigh 
on  four  year,  otf  and  on.  wet  and  dry,  in  luck  and  out  o' 
luck.  His  ways  ain't  aller  my  ways,  but  thar  ain't  any 
p'ints  in  that  young  man,  thar  ain't  any  liveliness  as  he  's 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  57 

been  up  to,  as  I  don't  know.  And  you  sez  to  me,  sez  you, 
—  confidential-like,  and  between  man  and  man,  — sez  you, 
'  Do  you  know  anything  in  his  behalf  ?  '  and  I  sez  to  you, 
sez  I,  —  confidential  -  like,  as  between  man  and  man,  — 
'  What  should  a  man  know  of  his  pardner  ?  ' 

"  Is  this  all  you  have  to  say  ?  "  asked  the  Judge  impa 
tiently,  feeling,  perhaps,  that  a  dangerous  sympathy  of 
humor  was  beginning  to  humanize  the  court. 

"  Thet 's  so,"  continued  Tennessee's  Partner.  "It  ain't 
for  me  to  say  anything  agin'  him.  And  now,  what  's  the 
case  ?  Here  's  Tennessee  wants  money,  wants  it  bad,  and 
does  n't  like  to  ask  it  of  his  old  pardner.  Well,  what  does 
Tennessee  do  ?  He  lays  for  a  stranger,  and  he  fetches  that 
stranger  ;  and  you  lays  for  kirn,  and  you  fetches  him  ;  and 
the  honors  is  easy.  And  I  put  it  to  you,  bein'  a  fa'r-minded 
man,  and  to  you,  gentlemen  all,  as  fa'r-minded  men,  ef  this 
isn't  so." 

"Prisoner,"  said  the  Judge,  interrupting,  "  have  you  any 
questions  to  ask  this  man  ?  " 

"  No  !  no  !  "  continued  Tennessee's  Partner  hastily.  "  I 
play  this  yer  hand  alone.  To  come  down  to  the  bed-rock, 
it 's  just  this  :  Tennessee,  thar,  has  played  it  pretty  rough 
and  expensive-like  on  a  stranger,  and  on  this  yer  camp. 
And  now,  what 's  the  fair  thing  ?  Some  would  say  more, 
some  would  say  less.  Here  's  seventeen  hundred  dollars  in 
coarse  gold  and  a  watch,  —  it 's  about  all  my  pile,  —  and 
call  it  square  !  "  And  before  a  hand  could  be  raised  to 
prevent  him,  he  had  emptied  the  contents  of  the  carpetbag 
upon  the  table. 

For  a  moment  his  life  was  in  jeopardy.  One  or  two 
men  sprang  to  their  feet,  several  hands  groped  for  hidden 
weapons,  and  a  suggestion  to  "throw  him  from  the  win 
dow  "  was  only  overridden  by  a  gesture  from  the  Judge. 
Tennessee  laughed.  And  apparently  oblivious  of  the  ex 
citement,  Tennessee's  Partner  improved  the  opportunity  to 
mop  his  face  again  with  his  handkerchief. 


5.s  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

When  order  was  restored,  and  the  man  was  made  to 
understand,  by  the  use  of  forcible  figures  and  rhetoric,  that 
Tennessee's  otl'ense  could  not  lie  condoned  by  money,  his 
face  took  a  more  serious  and  sanguinary  hue,  and  those 
who  were  nearest  to  him  noticed  that  his  rough  hand 
trembled  slightly  on  the  table.  He  hesitated  a  moment  as 
he  slowly  returned  the  gold  to  the  carpetbag,  as  if  he  had 
not  yet  entirely  caught  the  elevated  sense  of  justice  which 
swayed  the  tribunal,  and  was  perplexed  with  the  belief  that 
he  had  not  ollered  enough.  Then  he  turned  to  the  .Judge, 
and  saying,  "  This  ycr  is  a  lone  hand,  played  alone,  and 
without  my  pardner,"  he  bowed  to  the  jury  and  was  about 
to  withdraw,  when  the  .Judge  called  him  back:  — 

"  If  you  have  anything  to  say  to  Tennessee,  you  had 
better  say  it  now." 

For  the  first  time  that  evening  the  eyes  of  the  prisoner 
and  his  strange  advocate  met.  Tennessee  smiled,  showed 
his  white  teeth,  and  saying,  "  Euchred,  old  man  !  "  held 
out  his  hand.  Tennessee's  Partner  took  it  in  his  own,  and 
saying,  "I  just  dropped  in  as  T  was  passin'  to  see  how 
things  was  gettin'  on,"  let  the  hand  passively  fall,  and  add 
ing  that  ''  it  was  a  warm  night,"  again  mopped  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief,  and  without  another  word  withdrew. 

The  two  men  never  again  met  each  other  alive.  For  the 
unparalleled  insult  of  a  bribe  offered  to  Judge,  Lynch  — 
who,  whether  bigoted,  weak,  or  narrow,  was  at  least  incor 
ruptible  —  firmly  fixed  in  the  mind  of  that  mythical  per 
sonage  any  wavering  determination  of  Tennessee's  fate  ; 
and  at  the  break  of  day  he  was  inarched,  closely  guarded, 
to  meet  it  at  the  top  of  Marley's  Hill. 

How  he  met  it,  how  cool  lie  was.  how  he  refused  to  say 
anything,  how  perfect  were  the  arrangements  of  the  com 
mittee,  were  all  duly  reported,  with  the  addition  of  a  warn 
ing  moral  and  example  to  all  future  evil-doers,  in  the  ''  lied 
Dog  Clarion,"  by  its  editor,  who  was  present,  and  to  whoso 
vigorous  English  I  cheerfully  refer  the  reader.  But  the 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  59 

beauty  of  that  midsummer  morning,  the  blessed  amity  of 
earth  and  air  and  sky,  the  awakened  life  of  the  free  woods 
and  hills,  the  joyous  renewal  and  promise  of  Nature,  and 
above  all,  the  infinite  serenity  that  thrilled  through  each, 
was  not  reported,  as  not  being  a  part  of  the  social  lesson. 
And  yet,  when  the  weak  and  foolish  deed  was  done,  and  a 
life,  with  its  possibilities  and  responsibilities,  had  passed 
out  of  the  misshapen  thing  that  dangled  between  earth  and 
sky,  the  birds  sang,  the  flowers  bloomed,  the  sun  shone,  as 
cheerily  as  before  ;  and  possibly  the  "  Red  Dog  Clarion  " 
was  right. 

Tennessee's  Partner  was  not  in  the  group  that  surrounded 
the  ominous  tree.  But  as  they  turned  to  disperse,  atten 
tion  was  drawn  to  the  singular  appearance  of  a  motionless 
donkey-cart  halted  at  the  side  of  the  road.  As  they  ap 
proached,  they  at  once  recognized  the  venerable  "  Jenny  " 
and  the  two-wheeled  cart  as  the  property  of  Tennessee's 
Partner,  used  by  him  in  carrying  dirt  from  his  claim  ;  and 
a  few  paces  distant  the  owner  of  the  equipage  himself, 
sitting  under  a  buckeye-tree,  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  glowing  face.  In  answer  to  an  inquiry,  he  said  he  had 
come  for  the  body  of  the  "  diseased,"  "  if  it  was  all  the 
same  to  the  committee."  He  did  n't  wish  to  "  hurry  any 
thing  ";  he  could  "  wait."  He  was  not  working  that  day; 
and  when  the  gentlemen  were  done  with  the  "  diseased," 
he  would  take  him.  "  Ef  thar  is  any  present,"  he  added, 
in  his  simple,  serious  way,  "  as  would  care  to  jine  in  the 
fun'l,  they  kin  come."  Perhaps  it  was  from  a  sense  of 
humor,  which  I  have  already  intimated  was  a  feature  of 
Sandy  Bar,  —  perhaps  it  was  from  something  even  belter 
than  that,  but  two  thirds  of  the  loungers  accepted  the  in 
vitation  at  once. 

It  was  noon  when  the  body  of  Tennessee  was  delivered 
into  the  hands  of  his  par! nor.  As  the  cart  drc.w  up  to  tho 
fatal  tree,  we  noticed  that  it  contained  a  rough  oblong  box, 


Go  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

—  apparently  made  from  a  section  of  sluicing,  —  and  half 
filled  with  bark  and  the  tassels  of  pine.  The  cart  wad 
further  decorated  with  slips  of  willow  and  made  fragrant 
with  buckeye-blossoms.  "When  the  body  was  deposited  in 
the  box,  Tennessee's  Partner  drew  over  it  a  piece  of  tarred 
canvas,  and  gravely  mounting  the  narrow  scat  in  front,  with 
his  feet  upon  the  shafts,  urged  the  little  donkey  forward. 
The  eijuipage  moved  slowly  on,  at  that  decorous  pace  which 
was  habitual  with  .Jenny  even  under  less  solemn  circum 
stances.  The  men  —  half  curiously,  half  jestingly,  hut 
all  good-humoredly  —  strolled  along  beside  the  cart,  ,-ome 
in  advance,  some  a  little  in  the  rear  of  the  hoinelv  cata 
falque,  lint  whether  from  the  narrowing  of  the  road  or 
some  present  sense  of  decorum,  as  the  cart  passed  on,  the 
company  fell  to  the  rear  in  couples,  keeping  step,  and 
otherwise  assuming  the  external  show  of  a  formal  proces 
sion.  Jack  Folinsbee,  who  had  at  the  outset  played  a  fu 
neral  march  in  dumb  show  upon  an  imaginary  trombone, 
desisted  from  a  lack  of  sympathy  and  appreciation,  —  not 
having,  perhaps,  your  true  humorist's  capacity  to  be  con 
tent  with  the  enjoyment  of  his  own  fun. 

The  way  led  through  Grizzly  Canon,  by  this  time 
clothed  in  funereal  drapery  and  shadows.  The  redwoods, 
burying  their  moccasined  feet  in  the  red  soil,  stood  in 
Indian  file  along  the,  track,  trailing  an  uncouth  benediction 
from  their  bending  boughs  upon  the  passing  bier.  A  hare, 
surprised  into  helpless  inactivity,  sat  upright  and  pulsating 
in  the  ferns  by  the  roadside  as  the  cortege  went  bv. 
Squirrels  hastened  to  gain  a  secure  outlook  from  higher 
boughs  ;  and  the  blue-jays,  spreading  their  wings,  iluttered 
before;  them  like  outriders,  until  the  outskirts  of  Sandv  I  Jar 
were  reached,  and  the  solitary  cabin  of  Tennessee's  Partner. 

Viewed  under  more  favorable  circumstances,  it  would 
not  have  been  a  cheerful  place.  The  unpicturesque  site. 
the  rude  and  unlovely  outlines,  the  unsavory  details,  which 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  Gl 

distinguish  the  nest-building  of  the  California  miner,  were 
all,  here  with  the  dreariness  of  decay  superadded.  A  few 
paces  from  the  cabin  there  was  a  rough  inclosure,  which, 
in  the  brief  days  of  Tennessee's  Partner's  matrimonial 
felicity,  had  been  used  as  a  garden,  but  Avas  now  overgrown 
with  fern.  As  we  approached  it,  we  were  surprised  to  find 
that  what  we  had  taken  for  a  recent  attempt  at  cultivation 
was  the  broken  soil  about  an  open  grave. 

The  cart  was  halted  before  the  inclosure,  and  rejecting 
the  offers  of  assistance  with  the  same  air  of  simple  self- 
reliance  he  had  displayed  throughout,  Tennessee's  Partner 
lifted  the  rough  coffin  on  his  back,  and  deposited  it  unaided 
within  the  shallow  grave.  He  then  nailed  down  the  board 
which  served  as  a  lid,  and  mounting  the  little  mound  of 
earth  beside  it,  took  off  his  hat  and  slowly  mopped  his  face 
with  his  handkerchief.  This  the  crowd  felt  was  a  prelimi 
nary  to  speech,  and  they  disposed  themselves  variously  on 
stumps  and  boulders,  and  sat  expectant. 

"'When  a  man,"  began  Tennessee's  Partner  slowly,  "  has 
been  running  free  all  day,  what 's  the  natural  thing  for  him 
to  do  ?  Why,  to  come  home.  And  if  he  ain't  in  a  condi 
tion  to  go  home,  what  can  his  best  friend  do  ?  Why,  bring 
him  home.  And  here  's  Tennessee  has  been  running  free, 
and  we  brings  him  home  from  his  wandering."  He  paused 
and  picked  up  a  fragment  of  quartz,  rubbed  it  thoughtfully 
on  his  sleeve,  and  went  on  :  "  It  ain't  the  first  time  that 
I  've  packed  him  on  my  back,  as  you  see'd  me  now.  It 
ain't  the  first  time  that  I  brought  him  to  this  yer  cabin 
when  he  could  n't  help  himself  ;  it  ain't  the  first  time  that 
I  and  Jinny  have  waited  for  him  on  yon  hill,  and  picked 
him  up  and  so  fetched  him  home,  when  he  could  n't  speak 
and  did  n't  know  me.  And  now  that  it  's  the  last  time, 
why"  —he  paused  and  rubbed  the  quart/  gently  on  his 
sleeve  —  "  you  see  it  's  sort  of  rough  on  his  pardner.  And 


r>L'  TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER 

now,  gentlemen,"  he  added  abruptly,  picking  Tip  his  long- 
liandled  shovel,  "  the  fun'l  "s  over  ;  and  my  thanks,  and 
Tennessee's  thanks,  to  you  for  your  trouble."' 

Resisting  any  protlVrs  of  assistance,  lie  began  to  fill  in 
the  grave,  turning  his  back  upon  the  crowd,  that  after  a 
few  moments'  hesitation  gradually  withdrew.  As  they 
crossed  the  little  ridge  that  hid  Sandy  Bar  from  view, 
some,  looking  back,  thought  they  could  see  Tennessee's 
Partner,  his  work  done,  sitting  upon  the  grave,  his  shovel 
between  his  knees,  and  his  face  buried  in  his  red  bandana 
handkerchief.  Hut  it  was  argued  by  others  that  you 
could  n't  tell  his  face  from  his  handkerchief  at  that  dis 
tance,  and  this  point  remained  undecided. 

In  the  reaction  that  followed  the  feverish  excitement  of 
that  day,  Tennessee's  Partner  was  not  forgotten.  A  secret 
investigation  had  cleared  him  of  any  complicity  in  Tennes 
see's  guilt,  and  left  only  a  suspicion  of  his  general  sanity. 
Sandy  Bar  made  a  point  of  calling  on  him,  and  proffering 
various  uncouth  but  well-meant  kindnesses.  Hut  from  that 
day  his  rude  health  and  great  strength  seemed  visibly  to 
decline  ;  and  when  the  rainy  season  fairly  set  in,  and  the 
tiny  grass-blades  were  beginning  to  peep  from  the  rocky 
mound  above  Tennessee's  grave,  he  took  to  his  bed. 

(  hie  night,  when  the  pines  beside  the  cabin  were  swaying 
in  the  storm  and  trailing  their  slender  fingers  over  tho  roof, 
and  the  roar  and  rush  of  the  swollen  river  were  heard  below. 
Tennessee's  Partner  lifted  his  head  from  the  pillow,  saying. 
"It  is  time  to  go  for  Tennessee;  I  must  put  .Jinny  in 
the  cart";  and  would  have  risen  from  his  lied  but  for  the 
restraint  <>f  his  attendant.  Struggling,  lie  still  pursued  hi*- 
siiiLTular  fancy:  "There,  now,  steady,  .Jinny,  —  steadv.  old 
girl.  How  dark  it  is!  Look  out  for  the  ruts.  — and  look 
out  for  him.  too,  old  gal.  Sometimes,  you  know,  when  he's 
blind  drunk,  he  drops  down  right  in  the  trail.  Keep  on 


TENNESSEE'S  PARTNER  63 

straight  up  to  the  pine  on  the  top  of  the  hill.  Thar  !  I 
told  you  so  !  —  thar  lie  is,  —  coming  this  way,  too,  —  all 
by  himself,  sober,  and  his  face  a-shining.  Tennessee ! 
Pardner  !  " 

And  so  they  met. 


THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    BAR 

BEFORE  nine  o'clock  it  was  pretty  well  known  all  along 
the  river  that  the  two  parties  of  the  "  Amity  Claim  "  had 
quarreled  and  separated  at  daybreak.  At  that  time  the 
attention  <if  their  nearest  neighbor  had  been  attracted  by 
the  sounds  of  altercations  and  two  consecutive  pistol-shots. 
Running  out,  he  had  seen  dimly  in  the  gray  mist  that  rose 
from  the  river  the  tall  form  of  Scott,  one  of  the  partners, 
descending  the  hill  toward  the  canon;  a  moment  later, 
York,  the  other  partner,  had  appeared  from  the  cabin,  and 
walked  in  an  opposite  direction  toward  the  river,  passing 
within  a  few  feet  of  the  curious  watcher.  Later  it  was  dis 
covered  that  a  serious  Chinaman,  cutting  wood  before  the 
cabin,  had  witnessed  part  of  the  quarrel,  But  John  was 
stolid,  indifferent,  and  reticent.  "  Me  choppee  wood,  me 
no  tighter-/'  was  his  serene  response  to  all  anxious  queries. 
"  But  what  did  they  sa>/,  John  ?"  John  did  not  sn/ii: 
Colonel  Starbottle  deftly  ran  over  the  various  popular 
epithets  which  a  generous  public  sentiment  might  accept  as 
reasonable  provocation  for  an  assault.  But  John  did  not 
recognize  them.  ''And  this  yer  's  the  cattle,"  said  the 
Colond,  with  some  severity,  "  that  some  thinks  oughter 
be  allowed  to  testify  agin  a  "White  Man!  Git  —  you  hea 
then  !  " 

Still  the  quarrel  remained  inexplicable.      That  two  men, 


THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    BAR  <>5 

whose  amiability  and  grave  tact  had  earned  for  them  the 
title  of  "  The  Peacemakers,"  in  a  community  not  greatly 
given  to  the  passive  virtues,  —  that  these  men,  singularly 
devoted  to  each  other,  should  suddenly  and  violently  quar 
rel,  might  well  excite  the  curiosity  of  the  camp.  A  few  of 
the  more  inquisitive  visited  the  late  scene  of  conflict,  now 
deserted  by  its  former  occupants.  There  was  no  trace  of 
disorder  or  confusion  in  the  neat  cabin.  The  rude  table 
was  arranged  as  if  for  breakfast ;  the  pan  of  yellow  biscuit 
still  sat  upon  that  hearth  whose  dead  embers  might  have 
typified  the  evil  passions  that  had  raged  there  but  an  hour 
before.  But  Colonel  Starbottle's  eye,  albeit  somewhat 
bloodshot  and  rheumy,  was  more  intent  on  practical  details. 
On  examination,  a  bullet-hole  was  found  in  the  doorpost, 
and  another  nearly  opposite  in  the  casing  of  the  window. 
The  Colonel  called  attention  to  the  fact  that  the  one 
"  agreed  with  "  the  bore  of  Scott's  revolver,  and  the  other 
with  that  of  York's  derringer.  "  They  must  hev  stood 
about  yer,"  said  the  Colonel,  taking  position  ;  "not  more 'n 
three  feet  apart,  and  —  missed  !  "  There  was  a  fine  touch 
of  pathos  in  the  falling  inflection  of  the  Colonel's  voice, 
which  was  not  without  effect.  A  delicate  perception  of 
wasted  opportunity  thrilled  his  auditors. 

But  the  Bar  was  destined  to  experience  a  greater  dis 
appointment.  The  two  antagonists  had  not  met  since  the 
quarrel,  and  it  was  vaguely  rumored  that,  on  the  occasion 
of  a  second  meeting,  each  had  determined  to  kill  the  other 
"  on  sight."  There  was,  consequently,  some  excitement  — 
and,  it  is  to  be  feared,  no  little  gratification  —  when,  at  ten 
o'clock,  York  stepped  from  the  Magnolia  Saloon  into  the 
one  long  straggling  street  of  the  camp,  at  the  same  moment 
that  Scott  left  the  blacksmith's  shop  at  the  forks  of  the 
road.  It  was  evident,  at  a  glance,  that  a  meeting  could 
only  be  avoided  by  the  actual  retreat  of  one  or  the  other. 

In  an  instant  the  doors  and    windows  of    the   adjacent 


•  ;«•>  THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    HAK 

saloons  were  filled  with  faros.  Heads  unaccountably  ap 
peared  above  the  river  banks  and  from  behind  boulders. 
An  einptv  wagon  at  the  cross-road  was  suddenly  crowded 
with  people,  who  seemed  to  have  ^prung  from  the  earth. 
There  was  much  running  and  confusion  on  the  hillside. 
On  the  mountain-road,  Mr.  Jack  Hamlin  had  reined  up  his 
horse  and  was  standing  upright  on  the  seat  of  his  buggy. 
And  tlie  two  objects  of  this  absorbing  attention  approached 
each  other. 

"  York  's  got  the  sun,"  "  Scott  '11  line  him  on  that  tree,'' 
"  He's  walling  to  draw  hi.-  tire,"  came  from  the  call  ;  and 
then  it  wa>  silent.  Kut  above  thi>  human  breath li 
the  river  rushed  and  sang,  and  the  wind  rustled  the  tree- 
tops  with  an  indifference  that  seemed  obtrusive.  Colonel 
Starbottle  felt  it,  and  in  a  moment  of  sublime  preoccupa 
tion,  without  looking  around,  waved  his  cane  behind  him 
warningly  to  all  Nature,,  and  said,  "  Shu  ! 

The  men  were  now  within  a  few  feet  of  each  other.  A 
hen  ran  across  the  road  before  one  of  them.  A  feathery 
seed  vessel,  wafted  from  a  wayside  tree,  fell  at  the  feet  of 
the  other.  And,  unheeding  this  irony  of  Nature,  the  two 
opponents  came  nearer,  erect  and  rigid,  looked  in  each 
other's  eyes,  and  —  passed  ! 

Colonel  Starbottle  had  to  be  lifted  from  the  cart.  "This 
yer  camp  is  played  out."  he  said  gloomily,  as  he  affected  to 
be  supported  into  the  Magnolia.  "With  what  further  expres 
sion  he  might  have  indicated  his  feelings  it  was  impossibles 
to  say,  for  at  that  moment  Scott  joined  the  group.  ''  Did 
you  speak  to  me?"  he  a.-ked  of  the  Colonel,  dropping  his 
hand,  as  if  with  accidental  familiarity,  on  that  gentleman's 
shoulder.  The  Colonel,  recognizing  some  occult  quality  in 
the  touch,  and  some  unknown  quantity  in  the  glance  of  his 
questioner,  contented  himself  by  replying,  "  Xo,  sir,"  with 
dignity.  A  few  rods  away,  York's  conduct  was  as  charac 
teristic  and  peculiar.  "You  had  a  mighty  line  chance; 


THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY    BAR  67 

why  did  n't  you  plump  him  ?  "  said  Jack  Hamlin,  as  York 
drew  near  the  buggy.  "  Because  I  hate  him,"  was  the 
reply,  heard  only  by  Jack.  Contrary  to  popular  belief, 
this  reply  was  not  hissed  between  the  lips  of  the  speaker, 
but  was  said  in  an  ordinary  tone.  But  Jack  Hamlin,  who 
was  an  observer  of  mankind,  noticed  that  the  speaker's 
hands  were  cold  and  his  lips  dry,  as  he  helped  him  into  the 
buggy,  and  accepted  the  seeming  paradox  with  a  smile. 

When  Sandy  Bar  became  convinced  that  the  quarrel 
between  York  and  Scott  could  not  be  settled  after  the  usual 
local  methods,  it  gave  no  further  concern  thereto.  But 
presently  it  was  rumored  that  the  "  Amity  Claim  "  was  in 
litigation,  and  that  its  possession  would  be  expensively  dis 
puted  by  each  of  the  partners.  As  it  was  well  known  that 
the  claim  in  question  was  "  worked  out  "  and  worthless,  and 
that  the  partners  whom  it  had  already  enriched  had  talked 
of  abandoning  it  but  a  day  or  two  before  the  quarrel,  this 
proceeding  could  only  be  accounted  for  as  gratuitous  spite. 
Later,  two  San  Francisco  lawyers  made  their  appearance  in 
this  guileless  Arcadia,  and  were  eventually  taken  into  the 
saloons,  and  —  what  was  pretty  much  the  same  thing  —  the 
coniidences  of  the  inhabitants.  The  results  of  this  unhal 
lowed  intimacy  were  many  subpoenas  ;  and,  indeed,  when, 
the  "  Amity  Claim  "  came  to  trial,  all  of  Sandy  Bar  that 
was  not  in  compulsory  attendance  at  the  county  seat  came 
there  from  curiosity.  The  gulches  and  ditches  for  miles 
around  were  deserted.  I  do  not  propose  to  describe  that 
already  famous  trial.  Enough  that,  in  the  language  of  the 
plaintiff's  counsel,  "  it  was  one  of  no  ordinary  significance, 
involving  the  inherent  rights  of  that  untiring  industry 
which  had  developed  the  Pnr.tolinn  resources  of  this  golden 
land  ;  "  and,  in  the  homelier  phrase  of  Colonel  Starbottle, 
"  a  fuss  that  gentlemen  might  hev  settled  in  ten  minutes 
over  a  social  glass,  ef  they  meant  business  ;  or  in  ten 
seconds  with  a  revolver,  ef  they  meant  fun."  Scott  got  a 


08  THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    BAR 

verdict,  from  which  York   instantly  appealed.      It  was  said 
that  he  had  sworn  to  spend  his  last  dollar  in  the  struggle. 

In  this  way  Sandy  Bar  began  to  accept  the  enmity  of  the 
former  partners  as  a  lifelong  feud,  and  the  fact  that  they 
had  ever  been  friends  was  forgotten.  The  few  who  expected 
to  learn  from  the  trial  the  origin  of  the  quarrel  WTO  dis 
appointed.  Among  the  various  conjectures,  that  which 
ascribed  some  occult  feminine  inlluence  as  the  cause  was 
naturally  popular  in  a  camp  given  to  dubious  compliment 
of  the  sex.  "  My  word  for  it,  gentlemen,"  said  Colonel 
Starbottle,  who  had  been  known  in  Sacramento  as  a  Gentle 
man  of  the  Old  School,  ''there's  some  lovely  creature  at 
the  bottom  of  this."  The  gallant  ( 'olonel  then  proceeded 
to  illustrate  his  theory  by  divers  sprightly  stories,  such  as 
Gentlemen  of  the  Old  School  are  in  the  habit  of  repeating, 
but  which,  from  deference  to  the  prejudices  of  gentlemen 
of  a  more  recent  school,  I  refrain  from  transcribing  here. 
But  it  would  appear  that  even  the  Colonel's  theory  was 
fallacious.  The  only  woman  who  personally  might  have 
exercised  any  influence  over  the  partners  was  the  pretty 
daughter  of  "old  man  Folinsbee,"  of  Poverty  Flat,  at 
whose  hospitable  house  —  which  exhibited  some  comforts 
and  refinements  rare  in  that  crude  civilization  —  both  York 
and  Scott  were  frequent  visitors.  Yet  into  this  charming 
retreat  York  strode  one  evening  a  month  after  the  quarrel, 
and,  beholding  Scott  sitting  there,  turned  to  the  fair  hostess 
with  the  abrupt  query,  "  Do  you  love  this  man  7  "  The 
young  woman  thus  addressed  returned  that  answer  —  at 
once  spirited  and  evasive  —  which  would  occur  to  most  of 
my  fair  readers  in  such  an  emergency.  Without  another 
word,  York  left  the  house.  '• :  Miss  Jo  "  heaved  the  least 
possible  sigh  as  the  door  closed  on  York's  curls  and  square 
shoulders,  and  then,  like  a  good  girl,  turned  to  her  insulted 
guest.  "  But  would  you  believe  it,  dear  7  "  she  afterwards 
related  to  an  intimate  friend,  "  the  other  creature,  after 


THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR  GO 

glowering  at  me  for  a  moment,  got  upon  its  hind  legs, 
took  its  hat,  and  left  too ;  and  that 's  the  last  I  've  seen  of 
either." 

The  same  hard  disregard  of  all  other  interests  or  feelings 
in  the  gratification  of  their  blind  rancor  characterized  all 
their  actions.  When  York  purchased  the  land  below  Scott's 
new  claim,  and  obliged  the  latter,  at  a  great  expense,  to 
make  a  long  detour  to  carry  a  "  tail-race  "  around  it,  Scott 
retaliated  by  building  a  dam  that  overflowed  York's  claim 
on  the  river.  It  was  Scott  who,  in  conjunction  with  Colonel 
Starbottle,  first  organized  that  active  opposition  to  the  China 
men  which  resulted  in  the  driving  off  of  York's  Mongolian 
laborers ;  it  was  York  who  built  the  wagon-road  and  estab 
lished  the  express  which  rendered  Scott's  mules  and  pack- 
trains  obsolete  ;  it  was  Scott  who  called  into  life  the  Vigi 
lance  Committee  which  expatriated  York's  friend,  Jack 
Hamlin  ;  it  was  York  who  created  the  "  Sandy  Bar  Her 
ald,"  which  characterized  the  act  as  "  a  lawless  outrage " 
and  Scott  as  a  "  Border  Ruffian  ;  "  it  was  Scott,  at  the  head 
of  twenty  masked  men,  who,  one  moonlight  night,  threw  the 
offending  "  forms  "  into  the  yellow  river,  and  scattered  the 
types  in  the  dusty  road.  These  proceedings  were  received 
in  the  distant  and  more  civilized  outlying  towns  as  vague 
indications  of  progress  and  vitality.  I  have  before  me  a 
copy  of  the  "  Poverty  Flat  Pioneer "  for  the  week  ending 
August  12,  1856,  in  which  the  editor,  under  the  head  of 
"County  Improvements,"  says:  "The  new  Presbyterian 
Church  on  C  Street,  at  Sandy  Bar,  is  completed.  It  stands 
upon  the  lot  formerly  occupied  by  the  Magnolia  Saloon, 
which  was  so  mysteriously  burnt  last  month.  The  temple, 
which  now  rises  like  a  Phoenix  from  the  ashes  of  the  Mag 
nolia,  is  virtually  the  free  gift  of  H.  J.  York,  Esq.,  of 
Sandy  Bar,  who  purchased  the  lot  and  donated  the  lumber. 
Other  buildings  are  going  up  in  the  vicinity,  but  the  most 
noticeable  is  the  '  Sunny  South  Saloon,'  erected  by  Captain 


70  THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    BAR 

Mat.  Scott,  nearly  opposite  the  church.  Captain  Scott  has 
spared  no  expense  in  the  furnishing  of  this  saloon,  which 
promises  to  be  one  of  the  most  agreeable  places  of  resort 
in  old  Tuolumne.  lie  has  recently  imported  two  new  first- 
class  billiard-tables  with  cork  cushions.  Our  old  friend, 
'Mountain  Jimmy,'  will  dispense  liquors  at  the  bar.  We 
refer  our  readers  to  the  advertisement  in  another  column. 
Visitors  to  Sandy  Bar  cannot  do  better  than  give  '  Jimmy' 
a  call."  Among  the  local  items  occurred  the  following  : 
"  II.  J.  York,  Esq.,  of  Sandy  Bar,  has  offered  a  reward  of 
$100  for  the  detection  of  the  parties  who  hauled  away  the 
steps  of  the  new  Presbyterian  Church,  C  Street,  Sandy  Bar, 
during  divine  service  on  Sabbath  evening  last.  Captain 
Scott  adds  another  hundred  for  the  capture  of  the  mis 
creants  who  broke  the  magnificent  plate-glass  windows  of 
the  new  saloon  on  the  following  evening.  There  is  some 
talk  of  reorganizing  the  old  Vigilance  Committee  at  Sandy 
Bar." 

When,  for  many  months  of  cloudless  weather,  the  hard, 
unwinking  sun  of  Sandy  Bar  had  regularly  gone  down  on 
the  unpacified  wrath  of  these  men,  there  was  some  talk  of 
mediation.  In  particular,  the  pastor  of  the  church  to  which 
I  have  just  referred  —  a  sincere,  fearless,  but  perhaps  not 
fully  enlightened  man  —  seized  gladly  upon  the  occasion  of 
York's  liberality  to  attempt  to  reunite  the  former  partners. 
He  preached  an  earnest  sermon  on  the  abstract  sinfulness  of 
discord  and  rancor.  But  the  excellent  sermons  of  the  Kev. 
Mr.  Daws  were  directed  to  an  ideal  congregation  that  did 
not  exist  at  Sandy  Bar,  —  a  congregation  of  beings  of  un 
mixed  vices  and  virtues,  of  single  impulses,  and  perfectly 
logical  motives,  of  preternatural  simplicity,  of  childlike 
faith,  and  grown-up  responsibilities.  As  unfortunately  the 
people  who  actually  attended  Mr.  Daws's  church  were  mainly 
very  human,  somewhat  artful,  more  self -excusing  than 
self-accusing,  rather  good-natured,  and  decidedly  weak,  they 


THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAB  71 

quietly  shed  that  portion  of  the  sermon  which  referred  to 
themselves,  and  accepting  York  and  Scott  —  who  were 
both  in  deh'ant  attendance  —  as  curious  examples  of  those 
ideal  beings  above  referred  to,  felt  a  certain  satisfaction  — 
which,  I  fear,  was  not  altogether  Christian-like  —  in  their 
((  raking-down."  If  Mr.  Daws  expected  York  and  Scott  to 
shake  hands  after  the  sermon,  he  was  disappointed.  But 
he  did  not  relax  his  purpose.  With  that  quiet  fearlessness 
and  determination  which  had  won  for  him  the  respect  of 
men  who  were  too  apt  to  regard  piety  as  synonymous  with 
effeminacy,  he  attacked  Scott  in  his  own  house.  What  he 
said  has  not  been  recorded,  but  it  is  to  be  feared  that  it  was 
part  of  his  sermon.  When  he  had  concluded,  Scott  looked 
at  him,  not  unkindly,  over  the  glasses  of  his  bar,  and  said, 
less  irreverently  than  the  words  might  convey,  "  Young 
man,  I  rather  like  your  style  ;  but  when  you  know  York 
and  me  as  well  as  you  do  God  Almighty,  it  '11  be  time  to 
talk." 

And  so  the  feud  progressed  ;  and  so,  as  in  more  illus 
trious  examples,  the  private  and  personal  enmity  of  two 
representative  men  led  gradually  to  the  evolution  of  some 
crude,  half-expressed  principle  or  belief.  It  was  not  long 
before  it  was  made  evident  that  those  beliefs  were  identical 
with  certain  broad  principles  laid  down  by  the  founders  of 
the  American  Constitution,  as  expounded  by  the  statesmanlike 
A.,  or  were  the  fatal  quicksands  on  which  the  ship  of  state 
might  be  wrecked,  warningly  pointed  out  by  the  eloquent 
B.  The  practical  result  of  all  which  was  the  nomination  of 
York  and  Scott  to  represent  the  opposite  factions  of  Sandy 
Bar  in  legislative  councils. 

For  some  weeks  past  the  voters  of  Sandy  Bar  and  the 
adjacent  camps    had    been  called    upon,  in   large  type,  to 
"  RALLY  !  "     In  vain  the  great  pines  at  the  cross-roads  — 
whose  trunks  were  compelled  to  bear  this  and  other  legends 


7-  THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    BAR 

—  moaned  and  protested  from  their  windy  watch-towers. 
But  one  day,  with  fife  and  drum  and  flaming  transparency, 
a  procession  filed  into  the  triangular  grove  at  the  head  of 
the  gulch.  The  meeting  was  called  to  order  by  Colonel 
Starbottle,  who,  haying  once  enjoyed  legislative  functions, 
and  being  vaguely  known  as  '<  war-horse,"  was  considered  to 
bo  a  valuable  partisan  of  York.  He  concluded  an  appeal 
for  his  friend  with  an  enunciation  of  principles,  interspersed 
with  one  or  two  anecdotes  so  gratuitously  coarse  that  the 
very  pines  might  have  been  moved  to  pelt  him  with  their 
cast-olF  cones  as  he  stood  there.  But  he  created  a  laugh,  on 
which  his  candidate  rode  into  popular  notice  ;  and  when 
York  rose  to  speak,  he  was  greeted  with  cheers.  But,  to 
the  general  astonishment,  the  new  speaker  at  once  launched 
into  bitter  denunciation  of  his  rival.  He  not  only  dwelt 
upon  Scott's  deeds  and  example  as  known  to  Sandy  Bar, 
but  spoke  of  facts  connected  with  his  previous  career 
hitherto  unknown  to  his  auditors.  To  great  precision  of 
epithet  and  directness  of  statement,  the  speaker  added  the 
fascination  of  revelation  and  exposure.  The  crowd  cheered, 
yelled,  and  were  delighted ;  but  when  this  astounding 
philippic  was  concluded,  there  was  a  unanimous  call  for 
"  Scott  !  "  Colonel  Starbottle  would  have  resisted  this 
manifest  impropriety,  but  in  vain.  Partly  from  a  crude 
sense  of  justice,  partly  from  a  meaner  craving  for  excitement, 
the  assemblage  was  inflexible  ;  and  Scott  was  dragged, 
pushed,  and  pulled  upon  the  platform.  As  his  frowsy  head 
and  unkempt  beard  appeared  alwe  the  railing,  it  was 
evident  that  he  was  drunk.  But  it  was  also  evident,  before 
he  opened  his  lips,  that  the  orator  of  Sandy  Bar  —  the  one 
man  who  could  touch  their  vagabond  sympathies  (perhaps 
because  he  was  not  above  appealing  to  them)  — stood  before 
them.  A  consciousness  of  this  power  lent  a  certain  dignity 
to  his  figure,  and  I  am  not  sure  but  that  his  very  phy 
sical  condition  impressed  them  as  a  kind  of  regal  unbending 


THE   ILIAD    OF   SANDY    BAR  7^ 

and  large  condescension.  Howbeit,  when  this  unexpected 
Hector  arose  from  this  ditch,  York's  myrmidons  trembled. 
"  There  's  naught,  gentlemen,"  said  Scott,  leaning  forward 
on  the  railing,  —  "  there  's  naught  as  that  man  hez  said  as 
is  n't  true.  I  ivas  run  outer  Cairo ;  I  did  belong  to  the 
Regulators ;  I  did  desert  from  the  army ;  I  did  leave  a 
wife  in  Kansas.  But  thar  's  one  thing  he  did  n't  charge; 
me  with,  and  maybe  he 's  forgotten.  For  three  years, 
gentlemen,  I  was  that  man's  pardner !  "  Whether  he 
intended  to  say  more,  I  cannot  tell  ;  a  burst  of  applause 
artistically  rounded  and  enforced  the  climax,  and  virtually 
elected  the  speaker.  That  fall  he  went  to  Sacramento, 
York  went  abroad,  and  for  the  first  time  in  many  years 
distance  and  a  new  atmosphere  isolated  the  old  antagonists. 

With  little  of  change  in  the  green  wood,  gray  rock,  and 
yellow  river,  but  with  much  shifting  of  human  landmarks 
and  new  faces  in  its  habitations,  three  years  passed  over 
Sandy  Bar.  The  two  men,  once  so  identified  with  its 
character,  seemed  to  have  been  quite  forgotten.  "  You 
will  never  return  to  Sandy  Bar,"  said  Miss  Folinsbee,  the 
"  Lily  of  Poverty  Flat,"  on  meeting  York  in  Paris,  "  for 
Sandy  Bar  is  no  more.  They  call  it  Riverside  now ;  and 
the  new  town  is  built  higher  up  on  the  river  bank.  By  the 
bye,  'Jo 'says  that  Scott  has  won  his  suit  about  the  'Amity 
Claim/  and  that  he  lives  in  the  old  cabin,  and  is  drunk  half 
his  time.  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  added  the  lively  lady, 
as  a  flush  crossed  York's  sallow  cheek  ;  "  but,  bless  me,  I 
really  thought  that  old  grudge  was  made  up.  I  'm  sure  it 
ought  to  be." 

It  was  three  months  after  this  conversation,  and  a  pleasant 
summer  evening,  that  the  Poverty  Flat  coach  drew  up  be 
fore  the  veranda  of  the  Union  Hotel  at  Sandy  Bar.  Among 
its  passengers  was  one,  apparently  a  stranger,  in  the  local 
distinction  of  well-fitting  clothes  and  closely  shaven  face, 
who  demanded  a  private  room  and  retired  early  to  rest. 


74  THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    BAR 

But  before  sunrise  next  morning  lie  arose,  and,  drawing 
sonic  clothes  from  his  carpet-bag,  proceeded  to  array  himself 
in  a  pair  of  white  cluck  trousers,  a  white  duck  ovcrshirt, 
and  straw  hat.  \Yhen  his  toilet  was  completed,  he  tied  a 
red  bandana  handkerchief  in  a  loop  and  threw  it  loosely 
over  his  shoulders.  The  transformation  was  complete.  As 
he  crept  softly  down  the  stairs  and  stepped  into  the  road, 
no  one  would  have  detected  in  him  the  elegant  stranger  of 
the  previous  night,  and  but  few  have  recognized  the  face 
and  figure  of  Henry  York,  of  Sandy  I>ar. 

In  the  uncertain  light  of  that  early  hour,  and  in  the 
change  that  had  come  over  the  settlement,  he  had  to  pause 
for  a  moment  to  recall  where  he  stood.  The  Sandy  Bar  of 
his  recollection  lay  below  him,  nearer  the  river;  the  build 
ings  around  him  were  of  later  date  and  newer  fashion.  As 
lie  strode  toward  the  river,  he  noticed  here  a  schoolhouse 
and  there  a  church.  A  little  farther  on,  the  "  Sunny 
South"  came  in  view,  transformed  into  a  restaurant,  its 
gilding  faded  and  its  paint  rubbed  off.  He  now  knew 
where  he  was ;  and  running  briskly  down  a  declivity, 
crossed  a  ditch,  and  stood  upon  the  lower  boundary  of  the 
'•  Amity  Claim." 

The  gray  mist  was  rising  slowly  from  the  river,  clinging 
to  the  tree-tops  and  drifting  up  the  mountain-side  until  it 
was  caught  among  these  rocky  altars,  and  held  a  sacrifice  to 
the  ascending  sun.  At  his  feet  the  earth,  cruelly  gashed 
ami  scarred  by  his  forgotten  engines,  had.  since  the  old 
days,  put  on  a  show  of  greenness  here  and  there,  and  now 
smiled  forgivingly  up  at  him.  as  if  things  were  not  so  had 
after  all.  A  few  birds  were  bathing  in  the  ditch  with  a 
pleasant  suggestion  of  its  being  a  new  and  special  provision 
of  Nature,  and  a  hare  ran  into  an  inverted  sluice-box  as  he 
approached,  as  if  it  were  put  there  for  that  purpose. 

He  had  not  yet  dared  to  look  in  a  certain  direction. 
But  the  sun  was  now  high  enough  to  paint  the  little  emi- 


THE    ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR  75 

nonce  on  which  the  cabin  stood.  In  spite  of  his  self-control, 
his  heart  beat  faster  as  he  raised  his  ej'es  toward  it.  Its 
window  and  door  were  closed,  no  smoke  came  from  its  adobe 
chimney,  but  it  was  else  unchanged.  When  within  a  few 
yards  of  it,  he  picked  up  a  broken  shovel,  and  shouldering 
it  with  a  smile,  he  strode  toward  the  door  and  knocked. 
There  was  no  sound  from  within.  The  smile  died  upon  his 
lips  as  he  nervously  pushed  the  door  open. 

A  figure  started  up  angrily  and  came  toward  him,  —  a 
figure  whose  bloodshot  eyes  suddenly  fixed  into  a  vacant 
stare,  whose  arms  were  at  first  outstretched  and  then  thrown 
up  in  warning  gesticulation,  —  a  figure  that  suddenly  gasped, 
choked,  and  then  fell  forward  in  a  fit. 

But  before  he  touched  the  ground,  York  had  him  out 
into  the  open  air  and  sunshine.  In  the  struggle,  both  fell 
and  rolled  over  on  the  ground.  But  the  next  moment  York 
was  sitting  up,  holding  the  convulsed  frame  of  his  former 
partner  on  his  knee,  and  wiping  the  foam  from  his  inarticu 
late  lips.  Gradually  the  tremor  became  less  frequent  and 
then  ceased,  and  the  strong  man  lay  unconscious  in  his 
arms. 

For  some  moments  York  held  him  quietly  thus,  looking 
in  his  face.  Afar,  the  stroke  of  a  woodman's  axe  —  a  mere 
phantom  of  sound  —  was  all  that  broke  the  stillness.  High 
up  the  mountain,  a  wheeling  hawk  hung  breathlessly  above 
them.  And  then  came  voices,  and  two  men  joined  them. 

"  A  fight  ?  "  No,  a  fit ;  and  would  they  help  him  bring 
the  sick  man  to  the  hotel  ? 

And  there  for  a  week  the  stricken  partner  lay,  uncon 
scious  of  aught  but  the  visions  wrought  by  disease  and  fear. 
On  the  eighth  day  at  sunrise  he  rallied,  and  opening  his 
eyes,  looked  upon  York  and  pressed  his  hand  ;  and  then  he 
spoke : — 

"  And  it 's  you.      I  thought  it  was  only  whiskey." 

York  replied  by  only  taking  both  of  his  hands,  boyishly 


70  THE    ILIAD    OF    SANDY    BAH 

working  them  backward  and  forward,  as  his  elbow  rested  on 
the  bed,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

"  And  you  've  been  abroad.      How  did  you  like  Paris  ?  '' 

"  So,  so  !      How  did  you  like  Sacramento  ?  " 

"  Bully  !  '' 

And  that  was  all  they  could  think  to  say.  Presently 
Scott  opened  bis  eyes  again. 

"  I  'iu  mighty  weak." 

"  Von  '11  get  better  soon." 

"  Not  much.'' 

A  long  silence  followed,  in  which  they  could  hear  the 
sounds  of  wood-chopping,  and  that  Sandy  Bar  was  already 
astir  for  the  coming  day.  Then  Scott  slowly  and  with 
difficulty  turned  his  face  to  York  and  said, — 

"  I  might  hev  killed  you  once." 

"  I  wish  you  had." 

They  pressed  each  other's  hands  again,  but  Scott's  grasp 
was  evidently  failing.  He  seemed  to  summon  his  energies 
for  a  special  effort. 

"Old  man  !" 

"  Old  chap." 

"Closer!  " 

York  bent  his  head  toward  the  slowly  fading  face. 

"  Do  ye  mind  that  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

A  gleam  of  fun  slid  into  the  corner  of  Scott's  blue  eye  as 
he  whispered, — 

"  <  >K1  man,  tliar  iras  too  much  saleratus  in  that  bread  !  " 

It  is  said  that  these  were  his  last  words.  For  when  the 
sun,  which  had  so  often  gone  down  upon  the  idle  wrath 
of  those  foolish  men,  looked  again  upon  them  reunited,  it 
saw  the  band  of  Scott  fall  cold  and  irresponsive  from  the 
yearning  clasp  of  his  former  partner,  and  it  knew  that  the 
feud  of  Sandy  Bar  was  at  an  end. 


HOW  SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S 
BAR 

IT  had  been  raining  in  the  valley  of  the  Sacramento. 
The  North  Fork  had  overflowed  its  banks,  and  Rattlesnake 
Creek  was  impassable.  The  few  boulders  that  had  marked 
the  summer  ford  at  Simpson's  Crossing  were  obliterated 
by  a  vast  sheet  of  water  stretching  to  the  foothills.  The 
up-stage  was  stopped  at  Granger's  ;  the  last  mail  had  been 
abandoned  in  the  tules,  the  rider  swimming  for  his  life. 
"  An  area,"  remarked  the  "  Sierra  Avalanche,"  with  pensive 
local  pride,  "  as  large  as  the  State  of  Massachusetts  is  now 
under  water." 

Nor  was  the  weather  any  better  in  the  foothills.  The 
mud  lay  deep  on  the  mountain  road ;  wagons  that  neither 
physical  force  nor  moral  objurgation  could  move  from  the 
evil  ways  into  which  they  had  fallen  encumbered  the  track, 
and  the  way  to  Simpson's  Bar  was  indicated  by  broken- 
down  teams  and  hard  swearing.  And  further  on,  cut  off 
and  inaccessible,  rained  upon  and  bedraggled,  smitten  by 
high  winds  and  threatened  by  high  water,  Simpson's  Bar, 
on  the  eve  of  Christmas  Day,  1862,  clung  like  a  swallow's 
nest  to  the  rocky  entablature  and  splintered  capitals  of 
Table  Mountain,  and  shook  in  the  blast. 

As  night  shut  down  on  the  settlement,  a  few  lights 
gleamed  through  the  mist  from  the  windows  of  cabins  on 
either  side  of  the  highway,  now  crossed  and  gullied  by 
lawless  streams  and  swept  by  marauding  winds.  Happily 
most  of  the  population  were  gathered  at  Thompson's  store, 
clustered  around  a  redhot  stove,  at  which  they  silently  spat 


78         HOW    SANTA    GLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR 

in  some  accepted  sense  of  social  communion  that  perhaps 
rendered  conversation  unnecessary.  Indeed,  most  methods 
of  diversion  had  long  since  been  exhausted  on  Simpson's 
liar  ;  high  water  had  suspended  the  regular  occupations  on 
gulch  and  on  river,  and  a  consequent  lack  of  money  and 
whiskey  had  taken  the  zest  from  most  illegitimate  recrea 
tion.  Even  Mr.  Hanilin  was  fain  to  leave  the  Bar  with 
fifty  dollars  in  his  pocket —  the  only  amount  actually  real 
ized  of  the  large  sums  won  by  him  in  the  successful  ex 
ercise  of  his  arduous  profession.  '•  Ef  I  was  asked,"  he 
remarked  somewhat  later,  —  '*  ef  I  was  asked  to  pint  out 
a  party  little  village  where  a  retired  sport  as  did  n't  care 
for  money  could  exercise  hisself,  frequent  and  lively,  I  'd 
say  Simpson's  Bar  ;  but  for  a  young  man  with  a  large 
family  depending  on  his  exertions,  it  don't  pay."  As  Mr. 
Hamlin's  family  consisted  mainly  of  female  adults,  this 
remark  is  quoted  rather  to  show  the  breadth  of  his  humor 
than  the  exact  extent  of  his  responsibilities. 

ilowbeit,  the  unconscious  objects  of  this  satire,  sat  that 
evening  in  the  listless  apathy  begotten  of  idleness  and  lack 
of  excitement.  Even  the  sudden  splashing  of  hoofs  before 
the  door  did  not  arouse  them.  Dick  Bullen  alone  paused 
in  the  act  of  scraping  out  his  pipe,  and  lifted  his  head,  but 
no  other  one  of  the  group  indicated  any  interest  in,  or 
recognition  of,  the  man  who  entered. 

It  was  a  figure  familiar  enough  to  the  company,  and 
known  in  Simpson's  Bar  as  "The  Old  Man."  A  man  of 
perhaps  fifty  years;  grizzled  and  scant  of  hair,  lint  still 
fresh  and  youthful  of  complexion.  A  face  full  of  ready 
but  not  very  powerful  sympathy,  with  a  chamsleon-like 
aptitude  for  taking  on  the  shade  and  color  of  contiguous 
moods  and  feelings.  He  had  evidently  just  l^ft  some 
hilarious  companions,  and  did  not  at  first  notice  the  gravity 
of  the  group,  hut  clapped  the  shoulder  of  the  nearest  man 
jocularly,  and  threw  him.-ulf  into  a  vacant  chair. 


HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR        79 

"  Jest  heard  the  best  thing  out,  boys  !  Ye  know  Smiley, 
over  yar  —  Jim  Smiley  —  funniest  man  in  the  Bar  ?  Well, 
Jim  was  jest  telling  the  richest  yarn  about " 

"  Smiley  's  a fool,"  interrupted  a  gloomy  voice. 

"  A  particular skunk,"  added  another  in  sepulchral 

accents. 

A  silence  followed  these  positive  statements.  The  Old 
Man  glanced  quickly  around  the  group.  Then  his  face 
slowly  changed.  "  That 's  so,"  he  said  reflectively,  after  a 
pause,  "  certainly  a  sort  of  a  skunk  and  suthin'  of  a  fool. 
In  course."  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  as  in  painful 
contemplation  of  the  unsavoriness  and  folly  of  the  un 
popular  Smiley.  "  Dismal  weather,  ain't  it  ?  "  he  added, 
now  fully  embarked  on  the  current  of  prevailing  sentiment. 
"  Mighty  rough  papers  on  the  boys,  and  no  show  for  money 
this  season.  And  to-morrow  's  Christmas." 

There  was  a  movement  among  the  men  at  this  announce 
ment,  but  whether  of  satisfaction  or  disgust  was  not  plain. 
"  Yes,"  continued  the  Old  Man  in  the  lugubrious  tone  he 
had,  within  the  last  few  moments,  unconsciously  adopted, 
—  "yes,  Christmas,  and  to-night's  Christmas  Eve.  Ye  see, 
boys,  I  kinder  thought  —  that  is,  I  sorter  had  an  idee,  jest 
passin'  like,  you  know  —  that  maybe  ye  'd  all  like  to  come 
over  to  my  house  to-night  and  have  a  sort  of  tear  round. 
But  I  suppose,  now,  you  would  n't  ?  Don't  feel  like  it, 
maybe  ?  "  lie-  added  with  anxious  sympathy,  peering  into 
the  faces  of  his  companions. 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  responded  Tom  Flynn  with  some 
cheerfulness.  "  P'r'aps  we  may.  But  how  about  your  wife, 
Old  Man  ?  What  does  she,  say  to  it  ?  " 

The  Old  Man  hesitated.  His  conjugal  experience  had 
not  been  a  happy  one,  and  the  fact  was  known  to  Simpson's 
Bar.  His  lirst  wife,  a  delicate,  pretty  little  woman,  had 
suffered  keenly  and  secretly  from  the  jealous  suspicions  of 
her  husband,  until  one  day  he  invited  the  whole  Bar  to  his 


80         HOW    SANTA    GLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR 

house  to  expose  her  infidelity.  On  arriving,  the  party  found 
the  shy,  petite  creature  quietly  engaged  in  her  household 
duties,  and  retired  abashed  and  discomfited.  But  the  sensi 
tive  woman  did  not  easily  recover  from  the  shock  of  this 
extraordinary  outrage.  It  was  with  ditliculty  she  regained 
her  equanimity  sulliciently  to  release  her  lover  from  the 
closet  in  which  he  was  concealed,  and  escape  with  him. 
She  left  a  boy  of  three  years  to  comfort  her  bereaved  hus 
band.  The  Old  Man's  present  wife  had  been  his  cook. 
She  was  large,  loyal,  and  aggressive. 

Before  he  could  reply,  Joe  Dimmick  suggested  with 
great  directness  that  it  was  the  u  Old  Man's  house,"  and 
that,  invoking  the  Divine  Power,  if  the  case  were  his  own, 
he  would  invite  whom  he  pleased,  even  if  in  so  doing  he 
imperiled  his  salvation.  The  Powers  of  Evil,  he  further 
remarked,  should  contend  against  him  vainly.  All  this 
delivered  with  a  terseness  and  vigor  lost  in  this  necessary 
translation. 

"  In  course.  Certainly.  Thet  's  it,''  said  the  Old  Man 
with  a  sympathetic  frown.  "  Thar  's  no  trouble  about  thet. 
It 's  my  own  house,  built  every  stick  on  it  myself.  Don't 
you  be  afeard  o'  her,  boys.  She  muy  cut  up  a  trifle  rough 
—  ez  wimmiu  do  —  but  she'll  come  round."  Secretly 
the  Old  Man  trusted  to  the  exaltation  of  liquor  and  the 
power  of  courageous  example  to  sustain  him  in  such  an 
emergency. 

As  yet.  Dick  Bullen,  the  oracle  and  leader  of  Simpson's 
Bar,  had  not  spoken.  He  now  took  his  pipe  from  his  lips. 
''Old  Man,  how's  that  yer  Johnny  gettin'  on  ?  Seems  i". 
me  lie  didn't  look  so  peart  last  time  I  seed  him  on  the 
bluiF  lieavin'  rorks  at  Chinamen.  Didn't  seem  to  take 
much  interest  in  it.  Thar  was  a  gang  of  :em  by  yar  yester 
day —  drownded  out  up  the  river  —  and  I  kinder  thought 
o'  Johnny,  and  how  he  'd  miss  'cm  !  Maybe  now,  we  'd  be 
in  the  way  ef  he  wus  sick  ?  " 


HOW    SANTA    CLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR        81 

The  father,  evidently  touched  not  only  by  this  pathetic 
picture  of  Johnny's  deprivation,  but  by  the  considerate  deli 
cacy  of  the  speaker,  hastened  to  assure  him  that  Johnny 
was  better,  and  that  a  ''littlt-  fun  might  'liven  him  up." 
Whereupon  Dick  arose,  shook  himself,  and  saying,  "I'm 
ready.  Lead  the  way,  Old  Man  :  here  goes,"  himself  led 
the  way  with  a  leap,  a  characteristic  howl,  and  darted  out 
into  the  night.  As  he  passed  through  the  outer  room  he 
caught  up  a  blazing  brand  from  the  hearth.  The  action 
was  repeated  by  the  rest  of  the  party,  closely  following 
and  elbowing  each  other,  and  before  the  astonished  propri 
etor  of  Thompson's  grocery  was  aware  of  the  intention  of 
his  guests,  the  room  was  deserted. 

The  night  was  pitchy  dark.  In  the  first  gust  of  wind 
their  temporary  torches  were  extinguished,  and  only  the  red 
brands  dancing  and  flitting  in  the  gloom  like  drunken  will- 
o'-the-wisps  indicated  their  whereabouts.  Their  way  led 
up  Pine-Tree  Canon,  at  the  head  of  which  a  broad,  low, 
bark-thatched  cabin  burrowed  in  the  mountain-side.  It 
was  the  home  of  the  Old  Man,  and  the  entrance  to  the 
tunnel  in  which  he  worked  when  he  worked  at  all.  Here 
the  crowd  paused  for  a  moment,  out  of  delicate  deference 
to  their  host,  who  came  up  panting  in  the  rear. 

"  P'raps  ye  'd  better  hold  on  a  second  out  yer,  whilst  I 
go  in  and  see  that  things  is  all  right,"  said  the  Old  Man, 
with  an  indifference  he  was  far  from  feeling.  The  sugges 
tion  was  graciously  accepted,  the  door  opened  and  closed  on 
the  host,  and  the  crowd,  leaning  their  backs  against  the 
wall  and  cowering  under  the  eaves,  waited  and  listened. 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  no  sound  but  the  dripping 
of  water  from  the  eaves,  and  the  stir  and  rustle  of  wrestling 
boughs  above  them.  Then  the  men  became  uneasy,  and 
whispered  suggestion  and  suspicion  passed  from  the  one  to 
the  other.  "  Keckon  she's  caved  in  his  head  the  first 
lick !  "  "  Decoyed  him  inter  the  tunnel  and  barred  him 


SL'          HOW    SANTA    CLAl'S    CAMF.    TO    SIMPSON  S    KAIi 

up,  likely."  "  (rot  him  down  and  sittin'  on  him."  "  I'rob'ly 
l>iling  suthin'  to  heave  on  us  :  stand  clear  the  door,  boys  !  " 
For  just  then  the  latch  clicked,  the  door  slowly  opened, 
and  a  voice  said,  "  Come  in  out  o'  the  wet." 

The  voice  was  neither  that  of  the  Old  Man  nor  of  his 
wife.  Jt  was  the  voice  of  a  small  hoy.  its  weak  treble 
broken  by  that  preternatural  hoarseness  which  only  vaga 
bondage  and  the  habit  of  premature  self-assertion  can  give. 
It  was  the  face  of  a  small  boy  that  looked  up  at  theirs,  — 
a  face  that  might  have  been  pretty,  and  even  refined,  but 
that  it  was  darkened  by  evil  knowledge  from  within,  and 
dirt  and  hard  experience  from  without.  He  had  a  blanket 
around  his  shoulders,  and  had  evidently  just  risen  from  his 
bed.  ''Come  in,"  he  repeated,  "and  don't  make  no  noise. 
The  Old  Man  \s  in  there  talking  to  mar,"  lie  continued, 
pointing  to  an  adjacent  room  which  seemed  to  be  a  kitchen, 
from  which  the  Old  Man's  voice  came  in  deprecating  ac 
cents.  "  Let  me  bo,"  he  added  querulously,  to  Dick  Bul- 
len,  who  had  caught  him  up,  blanket  and  all,  and  was 
affecting  to  toss  him  into  the  lire,  "let  go  o'  me,  you  d — d 
old  fool,  d'  ye  hear  '.'  •' 

Thus  adjured,  Dick  liullon  lowered  Johnny  to  the 
ground  with  a  smothered  laugh,  while  the  men,  entering 
quietly,  ranged  themselves  around  a  long  table  of  rough 
boards  which  occupied  the  centre  of  the  room.  .Johnny 
then  gravely  proceeded  to  a  cupboard  and  brought  out  sev 
eral  articles,  which  he  deposited  on  the  table.  "  TJiar  's 
whi.-koy.  And  crackers.  And  red  herons.  And  cheese." 
lie  took  a  bite,  of  the  latter  on  his  way  to  the  table.  "  And 
pugar."  He  scooped  up  a  mouthful  >-n  rnvti1  with  a  small 
and  very  dirty  hand.  "  And  terbacker.  Thar 's  dried 
appils  too  on  the  shelf,  but  I  don't  admire  'em.  Appil>  is 
swollin'.  Thar,"  he,  concluded,  "now  wade  in.  and  don't 
be  afeard.  /don't  mind  the  old  woman.  She  don't  b'long 
to  me.  S'long." 


HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR    83 

He  had  stepped  to  the  threshold  of  a  small  room,  scarcely 
larger  than  a  closet,  partitioned  off  from  the  main  apart 
ment,  and  holding  in  its  dim  recess  a  small  bed.  He  stood 
there  a  moment  looking  at  the  company,  his  bare  feet  peep 
ing  from  the  blanket,  and  nodded. 

"  Hello.  Johnny  !  You  ain't  goin'  to  turn  in  agin,  are 
ye  ?  "  said  Dick. 

"  Yes,  I  are,"  responded  Johnny  decidedly. 

"  Why,  wot 's  up,  old  fellow  ?  " 

"  I  'm  sick." 

"  How  sick  ?  " 

"I've  got  a  fevier.  And  childblains.  And  roomatiz," 
returned  Johnny,  and  vanished  within.  After  a  moment's 
pause,  he  added  in  the  dark,  apparently  from  under  the 
bedclothes,  —  "  And  biles  !  " 

There  was  an  embarrassing  silence.  The  men  looked  at 
each  other  and  at  the  fire.  Even  with  the  appetizing  ban 
quet  before  them,  it  seemed  as  if  they  might  again  fall  into 
the  despondency  of  Thompson's  grocery,  when  the  voice  of 
the  Old  Man,  incautiously  lifted,  came  deprecatingly  from 
the  kitchen. 

"  Certainly  !  Thet  's  so.  In  course  they  is.  A  gang 
o'  lazy,  drunken  loafers,  and  that  ar  Dick  Bullen  's  the 
orneriest  of  all.  Did  n't  hev  no  more  sabe  than  to  come 
round  yar  with  sickness  in  the  house  and  no  provision. 
Thet 's  what  I  said  :  '  Bullen,'  sez  I,  '  it 's  crazy  drunk  you 
are.  or  a  fool,'  sez  I,  ;  to  think  o'  such  a  thing.'  'Staples,' 
I  sez,  '  be  you  a  man,  Staples,  and  'spect  to  raise  L — 11 
under  my  roof  and  invalids  lyin'  round  ?  '  But  they  would 
come,  —  they  would.  Thet's  wot  you  must  'spect  o'  such 
trash  as  lays  round  the  Bar." 

A  burst  of  laughter  from  the  men  followed  this  unfortu 
nate  exposure.  Whether  it  was  overheard  in  the  kitchen, 
or  whether  the  Old  Man's  irate  companion  had  just  then 
exhausted  all  other  modes  of  expressing  her  contemptuous 


84         HOW    SANTA    CLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR 

indignation,  I  cannot  say,  hut  a  back  door  was  suddenly 
slammed  with  great  violence.  A  moment  later  and  the 
Old  Man  reappeared,  haply  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  the 
late  hilarious  outburst,  and  smiled  blandly. 

"The  old  woman  thought  she'd  jest  run  over  to  Mrs. 
MacF'idden's  fur  a  sociable  call.''  he  explained  with  jaunty 
indifference,  as  he  took  a  seat  at  the  board. 

Oddly  enough  it  needed  this  untoward  incident  to  re 
lieve  the  embarrassment  that  was  beginning  to  be  felt  by 
the  party,  and  their  natural  audacity  returned  with  their 
host.  I  do  not  propose  to  record  the  convivialities  of  that 
evening.  The  inquisitive  reader  will  accept  the  statement 
that  the  conversation  was  characterized  by  the  same  intel 
lectual  exaltation,  the  same  cautious  reverence,  the  same 
fastidious  delicacy,  the  same  rhetorical  precision,  and  the 
same  logical  and  coherent  discourse  somewhat  later  in  tin 
evening,  which  distinguish  similar  gatherings  of  the  mascu 
line  sex  in  more  civili/ed  localities  and  under  more  favor 
able  auspices.  No  glasses  were  broken  in  the  absence  of 
any  ;  no  liquor  was  uselessly  spilt  on  the  Moor  or  table  in 
the  scarcity  of  that  article. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  the  festivities  were  inter 
rupted.  "Hush,''  said  Dick  Uullen,  holding  up  his  hand. 
It  was  the  querulous  voice  of  Johnny  from  his  adjacent 
closet  :  "0  dad  !  " 

The  Old  Man  arose  hurriedly  and  disappeared  in  the 
closet.  Presently  he  reappeared.  '•  His  rheumati/  is  com 
ing  on  agin  bad."  he  explained,  ''and  he  wants  rubbinY' 
He  lifted  the  demijohn  of  whiskey  from  the  table  and 
shook  it.  It  was  empty.  Dick  Pmllen  put  down  his  tin 
cup  with  an  embarrassed  laugh.  So  did  the  others.  The 
Old  Man  examined  their  contents  and  said  hopefully,  '"  1 
reckon  that  's  enough  ;  he  don't  need  much.  You  hold  on 
all  o'  you  for  a  spell,  and  I  '11  be  back  ;  "  and  vanished  in 
the  closet  with  an  old  llannel  shirt  and  the  whiskey.  The 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR        85 

door  closed  but  imperfectly,  and  the  following  dialogue  was 
distinctly  audible  : 

"  Xow,  sonny,  whar  does  she  ache  worst  ?  " 

"  Sometimes  over  yar  and  sometimes  under  yer  ;  but  it 's 
most  powerful  from  yer  to  yer.  Rub  yer,  dad." 

A  silence  seemed  to  indicate  a  brisk  rubbing.  Then 
Johnny  . 

"  Hevin'  a  good  time  out  yer,  dad  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sonny." 

"  To-morrer  's  Chrismiss,  —  ain't  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sonny.      How  does  she  feel  now  ?  " 

"  Better.  Rub  a  little  furder  down.  Wot 's  Chrismiss, 
anyway  ?  Wot 's  it  all  about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it 's  a  day." 

This  exhaustive  definition  was  apparently  satisfactory,  for 
there  was  a  silent  interval  of  rubbing.  Presently  Johnny 
again  : 

"  Mar  sez  that  everywhere  else  but  yer  everybody  gives 
things  to  every  body  Chrismiss,  and  then  shejist  waded  inter 
you.  She  sez  thar  's  a  man  they  call  Sandy  Claws,  not  a 
white  man,  you  know,  but  a  kind  o'  Chinemin,  comes  down 
the  chimbley  night  afore  Chrismiss  and  gives  things  to 
chillern,  —  boys  like  me.  Puts  'em  in  their  butes  !  Thet  's 
what  she  tried  to  play  upon  me.  Easy  now,  pop,  whar  are 
you  rubbiri'  to,  —  thet  's  a  mile  from  the  place.  She  jest 
made  that  up,  did  n't  she,  jest  to  aggrewate  me  and  you  ? 
Don't  rub  thar.  .  .  .  Why,  dad  !  " 

In  the  great  quiet  that  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  the 
house  the  sigh  of  the  near  pines  and  the  drip  of  leaves 
without  was  very  distinct.  Johnny's  voice,  too,  was 
lowered  as  he  went  on,  "  Don't  you  take  on  now,  for  I  'm 
gettin'  all  right  fast.  Wot's  the  boys  doin'  out  thar  ?  " 

The  Old  Man  partly  opened  the  door  and  peered  through. 
His  guests  were  sitting  there  sociably  enough,  and  there 
"were  a  few  silver  coins  and  a  lean  buckskin  purse  on  the 


80         HOW    SANTA    GLAUS   CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR 

table.  "  Bettiif  on  suthin' —  some  little  game  or  'nother. 
They  're  all  right,"  he  replied  to  Johnny,  and  recommenced 
his  rubbing. 

"  I  \1  like  to  take  a  hand  and  win  some  money,"  said 
Johnny  reflectively  after  a  pause. 

The  Old  Man  glibly  repeated  what  was  evidently  a 
familiar  formula,  that  if  Johnny  would  wait  until  he  struck 
it  rich  in  the  tunnel  he  'd  have  lots  of  money,  etc.,  etc. 

"  Yes,"  said  Johnny,  "  but  you  don't.  And  whether 
you  strike  it  or  I  win  it,  it  's  about  the  same.  It  's  all 
luck.  But  it  's  mighty  cur'o's  about  Chrismiss  —  ain't  it  ? 
\\liy  do  they  call  it  Chrismiss  ?  " 

Perhaps  from  some  instinctive  deference  to  the  overhear 
ing  of  his  guests,  or  from  some  vague  sense  of  incongruity, 
the  Old  Man's  reply  was  so  low  as  to  be  inaudible  beyond 
the  room. 

"  Yes,"  said  Johnny,  with  some  slight  abatement  of 
interest,  "I've  heerd  o'  him  before.  Thar,  that'll  do, 
dad.  I  don't  ache  near  so  bad  as  I  did.  Now  wrap  me 
tight  in  this  yer  blanket.  So.  Now,"  he  added  in  a 
mullled  whisper,  "  sit  down  yer  by  »ne  till  I  go  asleep." 
To  assure  himself  of  obedience,  he  disengaged  one  hand 
from  the  blanket,  and,  grasping  his  father's  sleeve,  again 
composed  himself  to  rest. 

For  some  moments  the  Old  Man  waited  patiently.  Then 
the  unwonted  stillness  of  the  house  excited  his  curiosity, 
and  without  moving  from  the  bed  he  cautiously  opened  tho 
dour  with  his  disengaged  hand,  and  looked  into  the  main 
room.  To  his  infinite  surprise  it  was  dark  and  deserted. 
But  even  then  a  smouldering  log  on  the  hearth  broke,  and 
by  the  npspringing  bla/e  he  saw  the  figure  of  Dick  Bullen 
sitting  by  the  living  embers. 

"  Hello!  " 

Dick  started,  rose,  and  came  somewhat  unsteadily  toward 
him. 


HOW   SANTA   GLAUS   CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S   BAR       87 

"  Whar  's  the  boys  ?  "  said  the  Old  Man. 

"  Gone  up  the  canon  on  a  little  pasear.  They  're 
coming  back  for  me  in  a  minit.  I'm  waitin'  round  for 'em. 
\Yhat  are  you  starin'  at,  Old  Man  ?  "  he  added,  with  a 
forced  laugh  ;  "  do  you  think  I  'm  drunk  ?  " 

The  Old  Man  might  havo  been  pardoned  the  supposition, 
for  Dick's  eyes  were  liutnid  and  his  face  Hushed.  Ho 
loitered  and  lounged  back  to  the  chimney,  yawned,  shook 
himself,  buttoned  up  his  coat  and  laughed.  "  Liquor  ain't 
so  plenty  as  that,  Old  Man.  Now  don't  you  git  up,"  ho 
continued,  as  the  Old  Man  made  a  movement  to  release  his 
sleeve  from  Johnny's  hand.  "  Don't  you  mind  manners. 
Sit  jest  whar  you  be  ;  I  'm  goin'  in  a  jiffy.  Thar,  that 's 
them  now." 

There  was  a  low  tap  at  the  door.  Dick  Bullen  opened 
it  quickly,  nodded  "Good-night"  to  his  host,  and  disap 
peared.  The  Old  Man  would  have  followed  him  but  for 
the  hand  that  still  unconsciously  grasped  his  sleeve.  Ho 
could  have  easily  disengaged  it  :  it  was  small,  weak,  and 
emaciated.  But  perhaps  because  it  was  small,  weak,  and 
emaciated  he  changed  his  mind,  and,  drawing  his  chair 
closer  to  the  bed,  rested  his  head  upon  it.  In  this  defense 
less  attitude  the  potency  of  his  earlier  potations  surprised 
him.  The  room  flickered  and  faded  before  his  eyes,  reap 
peared,  faded  again,  went  out,  and  left  him  —  asleep. 

Meantime  Dick  Bullen,  closing  the  door,  confronted  his 
companions.  "  Are  you  ready  ?  "  said  Staples.  "  Ready," 
said  Dick  ;  "  what 's  the  time  ?  "  "  Past  twelve,"  was  the 
reply  ;  "  can  you  make  it  ?  —  it 's  nigh  on  fifty  miles,  the 
round  trip  hither  and  yon."  "  I  reckon,"  returned  Dick 
shortly.  "  Whar  's  the  mare  ?  "  "  Bill  and  Jack  's 
hold'm'  her  at  the  crossin'."  "  Let  'em  hold  on  a  minit 
longer,"  said  Dick. 

He  turned  and  reentered  the  house  softly.  By  the  light 
of  the  guttering  candle  and  dying  fire  he  saw  that  the  door 


SS         Iimv    SANTA    CLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    HAI; 

of  the  little  room  was  open.  He  stepped  toward  it  on  tijv 
toe  and  looked  in.  The  Old  Man  had  fallen  back  in  his 
rliair,  snoring,  his  helpless  feet  thrust  out  in  a  lino  with  his 
collapsed  shoulders,  and  his  hat  pulled  over  his  eyes. 
'Beside  him.  on  a  narrow  wooden  bedstead,  lay  Johnny, 
mutlled  tightly  in  a  blanket  that  hid  all  save  a  strip  of 
forehead  and  a  few  rurls  damp  with  perspiration.  Pick 
J>ullon  made  a  stop  forward,  hesitated,  and  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  into  the  deserted  room.  Everything  was  quiet. 
"With  a  sudden  resolution  he  parted  his  huge  mustaches 
with  both  hands  and  stooped  over  the  sleeping  boy.  But 
even  as  he  did  so  a  mischievous  blast,  lying  in  wait,  swooped 
down  the  chimney,  rekindled  the  hearth,  and  lit  up  the 
room  with  a  shameless  glow  from  which  Dick  fled  in  bash 
ful  terror. 

His  companions  were  already  waiting  for  him  at  the 
crossing.  Two  of  them  were  struggling  in  the  darkness 
with  some  strange  misshapen  bulk,  which  as  Dick  came 
nearer  took  the  semblance  of  a  great  yellow  horse. 

It  was  the  mare.  She  was  not  a  pretty  picture.  From 
her  Roman  nose  to  her  rising  haunches,  from  her  arched 
5pine  hidden  by  the  stiff  ni/ir/t i/lat  of  a  Mexican  saddle,  to 
her  thick,  straight  bony  legs,  there  was  not  a  line  of  equine 
grace.  In  her  half-blind  but  wholly  vicious  white  eyes,  in 
her  protruding  under-lip,  in  her  monstrous  color,  there  was 
nothing  but  ugliness  and  vice. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Staples,  "  stand  cl'ar  of  her  heels, 
hoys,  and  up  with  you.  Don't  miss  your  first  holt  of  her 
mane,  and  mind  ye  get  your  off  stirrup  (/nick.  Ready  !  " 

There  was  a  leap,  a  scrambling  struggle,  a  hound,  a  wild 
retreat  of  the  crowd,  a  circle  of  flying  hoofs,  two  springloss 
leaps  that  jarred  the  earth,  a  rapid  play  and  jingle  of  spurs, 
a  plunge,  and  then  the  voice  of  Dick  somewhere  in  the 
darkness.  "  All  right !  " 

"  Don't  take    the   lower   road    back  onless  you  're    hard 


HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR        89 

pushed  for  time !      Don't  hold  her  in  down  hill     We  '11  be 
at  the  ford  at  five.      G'lang  !   Hoopa  !   Mula  !   GO  !  " 

A  splash,  a  spark  struck  from  the  ledge  in  the  road,  a 
clatter  in  the  rocky  cut  beyond,  and  Dick  was  gone. 

Sing,  0  Muse,  the  ride  of  Richard  Bullen  !  Sing,  O 
Muse,  of  chivalrous  men  !  the  sacred  quest,  the  doughty 
deeds,  the  battery  of  low  churls,  the  fearsome  ride  and  grue 
some  perils  of  the  Flower  of  Simpson's  Bar  !  Alack  !  she 
is  dainty,  this  Muse  !  She  will  have  none  of  this  bucking 
brute  and  swaggering,  ragged  rider,  and  I  must  fain  follow 
him  in  prose,  afoot  ! 

It  was  one  o'clock,  and  yet  he  had  only  gained  Rattle 
snake  Hill.  For  in  that  time  Jovita  had  rehearsed  to  him 
all  her  imperfections  and  practiced  all  her  vices.  Thrice 
had  she  stumbled.  Twice  had  she  thrown  up  her  Roman 
nose  in  a  straight  line  with  the  reins,  and,  resisting  bit  and 
spur,  struck  out  madly  across  country.  Twice  had  she 
reared,  and,  rearing,  fallen  backward  ;  and  twice  had  the 
agile  Dick,  unharmed,  regained  his  seat  before  she  found 
her  vicious  legs  again.  And  a  mile  beyond  them,  at  the 
foot  of  a  long  hill,  was  Rattlesnake  Creek.  Dick  knew  that 
here  was  the  crucial  test  of  his  ability  to  perform  his  enter 
prise,  set  his  teeth  grimly,  put  his  knees  well  into  her 
flanks,  and  changed  his  defensive  tactics  to  brisk  aggression. 
Bullied  and  maddened,  Jovita  began  the  descent  of  the  hill. 
Here  the  artful  Richard  pretended  to  hold  her  in  with 
ostentatious  objurgation  and  well-feigned  cries  of  alarm. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  add  that  Jovita  instantly  ran  away. 
Nor  need  I  state  the  time  made  in  the  descent ;  it  is  written 
in  the  chronicles  of  Simpson's  Bar.  Enough  that  in  another 
moment,  as  it  seemed  to  Dick,  she  was  splashing  on  the 
overflowed  banks  of  Rattlesnake  Creek.  As  Dick  expected, 
the  momentum  she  had  acquired  carried  her  beyond  the 
point  of  balking,  and,  holding  her  well  together  for  a 


DO         HOW    SANTA    CLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    HAH 

mighty  leap,  they  dashed  into  the  middle  of  the  swiftlv 
flowing  current.  A  few  moments  of  kicking,  wading,  ami 
swimming,  and  Dick  drew  a  long  breath  on  the  opposite 
hank. 

The  road  from  Rattlesnake  Creek  to  Red  Mountain  wa.- 
tolerahly  level.  Kilh.T  (he  plunge  in  Rattlesnake  Creek 
li.nl  dampened  her  baleful  tire,  or  the  art  which  led  (o  it 
had  shown  her  the  superior  wickedness  of  her  rider,  for 
Jovita  no  longer  wasted  her  surplus  energy  in  wanton  con 
ceits.  Once  she  bucked,  hut  it  was  from  force  of  habit: 
once  she  shied,  but  it  was  from  a  new,  freshly  painted  meet 
ing-house  at  the  crossing  of  the  county  road.  Hollows, 
ditches,  gravelly  deposits,  patches  of  freshly  springing  grasses. 
tlew  from  beneath  her  rattling  hoofs.  She  began  to  smell 
unpleasantly,  once  or  twice  she  coughed  slightly,  but  there 
was  no  abatement  of  her  strength  or  speed.  By  two  o'clock 
lie  had  passed  Red  Mountain  and  begun  the  descent  to 
the  plain.  Ten  minutes  later  the  driver  of  the  fast  Pioneer 
coach  was  overtaken  and  passed  by  a  "  man  on  a  Vinto 
boss,"-— an  event  sufficiently  notable  for  remark.  At  half 
past  two  Dick  rose  in  his  stirrups  with  a  great  shout.  Star-; 
were  glittering  through  the  rifted  clouds,  and  beyond  him, 
out  of  the  plain,  rose  two  spires,  a  flagstaff,  and  a  straggling 
line  of  black  objects.  Dick  jingled  his  spurs  and  swun_r 
his  rintu,  Jovita  bounded  forward,  and  in  another  moment 
they  swept  into  Tuttleville.  and  drew  up  before  the  wooden 
pia//a  of  "The,  Hotel  of  All  Nations." 

"What  transpired  that  night  at  Tuttleville  is  not  strictly  i 
part  of  this  record.  Briefly  I  may  state,  however,  that  after 
Jovita  had  been  handed  over  to  a  sleepy  ostler,  whom  she 
at  once  kicked  into  unpleasant  consciousness.  Dick  sallied 
out  with  the  barkeeper  for  a  tour  of  the  sleeping  tow:.. 
Lights  still  gleamed  from  a  few  saloons  and  gambling-houses  ; 
but,  avoiding  these,  they  stopped  before  several  closed  shop-, 
and  by  persistent  tapping  and  judicious  outcry  roused  tho 


HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR        91 

proprietors  from  their  beds,  and  made  them  unbar  the  doors 
of  their  magazines  and  expose  their  wares.  Sometimes  they 
were  met  by  curses,  but  oftener  by  interest  and  some  con 
cern  in  their  needs,  and  the  interview  was  invariably  con 
cluded  by  a  drink.  It  was  three  o'clock  before  this  pleas 
antry  was  given  over,  and  with  a  small  waterproof  bag  of 
India-rubber  strapped  on  his  shoulders,  Dick  returned  tc 
the  hotel.  But  here  he  was  waylaid  by  Beauty,  —  Beauty 
opulent  in  charms,  affluent  in  dress,  persuasive  in  speech, 
and  Spanish  in  accent  !  In  vain  she  repeated  the  invitation 
in  "  Excelsior,"  happily  scorned  by  all  Alpine-climbing 
youth,  and  rejected  by  this  child  of  the  Sierras,  —  a  rejection 
softened  in  this  instance  by  a  laugh  and  his  last  gold  coin. 
And  then  he  sprang  to  the  saddle  and  dashed  down  the 
lonely  street  and  out  into  the  lonelier  plain,  where  presently 
the  lights,  the  black  line  of  houses,  the  spires,  and  the  flag 
staff  sank  into  the  earth  behind  him  again  and  were  lost  in 
the  distance. 

The  storm  had  cleared  away,  the  air  was  brisk  and  cold, 
the  outlines  of  adjacent  landmarks  were  distinct,  but  it  was 
half-past  four  before  Dick  reached  the  meeting-house  and 
the  crossing  of  the  county  road.  To  avoid  the  rising  grade 
he  had  taken  a  longer  and  more  circuitous  road,  in  whose 
viscid  mud  Jovita  sank  fetlock  deep  at  every  bound.  It 
was  a  poor  preparation  for  a  steady  ascent  of  five  miles 
more ;  but  Jovita,  gathering  her  legs  under  her,  took  it 
with  her  usual  blind,  unreasoning  fury,  and  a  half-hour  later 
reached  the  long  level  that  led  to  Rattlesnake  Creek. 
Another  half-hour  would  bring  him  to  the  creek.  He  threw 
the  reins  lightly  upon  the  neck  of  the  mare,  chirruped  to 
her,  and  began  to  sing. 

Suddenly  Jovita  shied  with  a  bound  that  would  have 
unseated  a  less  practiced  rider.  Hanging  to  her  rein  was  a 
figure,  that  had  leaped  from  the  bank,  and  at  the  same  time 
from  the  road  before  her  arose  a  shadowy  horse  and  rider. 


92         HOW    SANTA    CLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR 

"  Throw  up  your  hands,"  commanded  the  second  appari 
tion,  with  an  oath. 

Dick  felt  the  mare  tremble,  quiver,  and  apparently  sink 
under  him.  He  knew  what  it  meant  and  was  prepared. 

"  Stand  asitle,  Jack  Simpson.  I  know  you,  you  d — d 
thief  !  Let  me  pass,  or  '' 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence.  .Jovita  rose  straight  in 
the  air  with  a  terrific  bound,  throwing  the  figure  from  her 
Lit  with  a  single  shake  of  her  vicious  head,  and  charged 
with  deadly  malevolence  down  on  the  impediment  bcforo 
her.  An  oath,  a  pistol-shot,  horse  and  highwayman  rolled 
over  in  the  road,  and  the  next  moment  Jovita  was  a  hundred 
yards  away.  Hut  the  good  right  arm  of  her  rider,  shattered 
by  a  bullet,  dropped  helplessly  at  his  side. 

Without  slacking  his  speed  he  shifted  the  reins  to  his  left 
hand.  But  a  few  moments  later  he  was  obliged  to  halt  and 
tighten  the  saddle-girths  that  had  slipped  in  the  onset. 
This  in  his  crippled  condition  took  some  time.  He  had 
no  fear  of  pursuit,  but  looking  up  he  saw  that  the  eastern 
stars  were  already  paling,  and  that  the  distant  peaks  had 
lost  their  ghostly  whiteness,  and  now  stood  out  blackly 
against  a  lighter  sky.  Day  was  upon  him.  Then  com 
pletely  absorbed  in  a  single  idea,  he  forgot  the  pain  of  his 
wound,  and  mounting  again  dashed  on  toward  Rattlesnake 
Creek.  Hut  now  Jovita's  breath  came  broken  by  gasps, 
Dick  reeled  in  his  saddle,  and  brighter  and  brighter  grew 
the  sky. 

Hide,  Kichard  ;    run,  Jovita;    linger,  O  day  ! 

For  the  last  few  rods  there  was  a  roaring  in  his  ears. 
Was  it  exhaustion  from  loss  of  blood,  or  what?  He  was 
d,i/.ed  and  giddy  as  be  swept  down  the  hill,  and  did  not 
recognize  his  surroundings.  Had  he  taken  the  wrong  road, 
or  was  this  Rwttlesnake  ('reek  '.' 

It  was.  Hut  the  brawling  creek  lie  had  swam  a  few 
hours  before  had  risen,  more  than  doubled  its  volume,  and 


HOW   SANTA   CLAUS   CAME   TO   SIMPSON'S   BAR        93 

now  rolled  a  swift  and  resistless  river  between  him  and 
Rattlesnake  Hill.  For  the  first  time  that  night  Richard's 
heart  sank  within  him.  The  river,  the  mountain,  the 
quickening  east,  swam  before  his  eyes.  He  shut  them  to 
recover  his  self-control.  In  that  brief  interval,  by  some 
fantastic  mental  process,  the  little  room  at  Simpson's  Bar 
and  the  figures  of  the  sleeping  father  and  son  rose  upon 
him.  He  opened  his  eyes  wildly,  cast  off  his  coat,  pistol, 
boots,  and  saddle,  bound  his  precious  pack  tightly  to  his 
shoulders,  grasped  the  bare  flanks  of  Jovita  with  his  bared 
knees,  and  with  a  shout  dashed  into  the  yellow  water.  A 
cry  rose  from  the  opposite  bank  as  the  head  of  a  man  and 
horse  struggled  for  a  few  moments  against  the  battling  cur 
rent,  and  then  were  swept  away  amidst  uprooted  trees  and 
whirling  driftwood. 

The  Old  Man  started  and  woke.  The  fire  on  the  hearth 
was  dead,  the  candle  in  the  outer  room  flickering  in  its 
socket,  and  somebody  was  rapping  at  the  door.  He  opened 
it,  but  fell  back  with  a  cry  before  the  dripping,  half-naked 
figure  that  reeled  against  the  doorpost. 

"  Dick  ?  " 

"  Hush  !     Is  he  awake  yet  ?  " 

"  No  ;   but,  Dick  "  — 

"  Dry  up,  you  old  fool !  Get  me  some  whiskey,  quick  !  " 
The  Old  Man  flew  and  returned  with  —  an  empty  bottle  ! 
Dick  would  have  sworn,  but  his  strength  was  not  equal  to 
the  occasion.  He  staggered,  caught  at  the  handle  of  the 
door,  and  motioned  to  the  Old  Man. 

"  Thar  's  suthin'  in  my  pack  yer  for  Johnny.  Take  it 
off.  I  can't." 

The  Old  Man  unstrapped  the  pack,  and  laid  it  before 
the  exhausted  man. 

"  Open  it,  quick." 

He  did  so  with  trembling  fingers.      It  contained  only  a 


94         HOW    SANTA    CLAUS    CAME    TO    SIMPSON'S    BAR 

few  poor  toys,  —  cheap  and  barbaric  enough,  goodness 
knows,  but  bright  with  paint  and  tinsel.  One  of  them  was 
broken  ;  another,  I  fear,  was  irretrievably  ruined  by  water, 
and  on  the  third  —  all  me  !  there  was  a  cruel  spot. 

"  It  don't  look  like  much,  that  's  a  fact,"  said  Dick  rue 
fully.  .  .  .  "But  it's  the  best  we  could  do.  .  .  .  Take 
'em,  Old  Man.  and  put  'em  in  his  stocking,  and  tell  him  — 
tell  him,  you  know  —  hold  me,  Old  Man"  The  Old 

Man  caught  at  his  sinking  figure.  "Tell  him."  said  Dick, 
with  a  weak  little  laugh,  —  "tell  him  Sandy  Claus  has 
come." 

And  even  so,  bedraggled,  ragged,  unshaven  and  unshorn, 
with  one  arm  hanging  helplessly  at  his  side,  Santa  Claus 
came  to  Simpson's  Bar  and  fell  fainting  on  the  first  thresh 
old.  The  Christmas  dawn  came  slowly  after,  touching  the 
remoter  peaks  with  the  rosy  warmth  of  ineligible  love.  And 
it  looked  so  tenderly  on  Simpson's  Bar  that  the  whole  moun 
tain,  as  if  caught  in  a  generous  action,  blushed  to  the  skies. 


NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS 

JOHN   BURNS  OF  GETTYSBURG 

JOHN  BURNS  (1793-1872)  had  fought  in  the  war  of  1812. 
He  was  seventy  years  old  when  he  fought  so  bravely  at 
Gettysburg. 

One  of  the  qualities  in  human  nature  that  Bret  Harte  never 
tires  of  delineating  is  that  of  unaffected  virtue.  The  real 
hero  is  he  who  docs  his  duty  naturally;  he  does  not  stop  to 
analyze  his  motives  nor  to  commend  —  even  in  thought  — 
his  own  behavior.  Such  a  hero  is  the  simple-hearted,  unim 
aginative  John  Burns.  It  was  this  trait  in  human  nature  of 
which  Wordsworth  was  thinking  when  he  wrote  the  Ode  to 
Duty. 

LINE 

2  The  assumption  of  the  presence  of  a  listener  illustrates  the 

dramatic  sense  in  Bret  Harte. 

11  very  day.  July  3.  The  first  attack  by  General  Lee  was  made 
on  July  1.  At  the  end  of  three  days  of  fighting  Lee  was  forced 
to  retreat  with  a  loss  of  30,000  men.  The  union  loss  was 
23,000. 

14  Meade:  General  George  Gordon  Meade  (1815-1872)  was  in 
command  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  at  the  battle  of 
Gettysburg.  Bret  Harte  makes  a  rather  poor  pun  on  the 
word  mead,  which  he  conjoins  with  field. 

lf)-31   Is  the   dramatic  quality  in  the  character  of  John  Burns 
increased   or   diminished   by   this   emphasis   upon   the   old 
farmer's  lack  of  fancy? 
3t>-54  What  details  here  lend  most  power  to  the  description  of 

the  carnage? 
57-69  Of  what  value  is  this  description  of  the  old  man's  dress? 

What  does  it  suggest  in  reference  to  his  character? 
71  The  veterans  of  the  Peninsula  were  the  soldiers  who  had 
been  under  the  command  of  MeClellan  while  he  had  been 
engaged  in  his  campaign  in  which  his  objective  design  was 
the  capture  of  Richmond. 
78  slangy  repertoire:  a  storehouse  of  slang. 
89  ff.  What  was  it  that  finally  stopped  the  scoffs  and  jeers  of  the 
crowd? 


ro.MMKNTS,   AM*  ijl'KSTInXs 
LINK 

1(X)  Many   factions    in    France   opposed    Henry    IV,    known    as 

Henry  of  Navarre,  and  leagued  their  soldiery  against  him. 
Led  by  the  Duke  of  Mayenne  these  Leaguers  attacked  the 
king  and  his  forces  at  Ivry  in  March,  l.V.K).  Before  the  battle 
Henry,  \vith  helmet  adorned  \vitli  a  large  white  plume,  s])oke 
to  liis  soldier.-:  "  My  children,  if  you  lose  sight  of  your  colors, 
rally  to  my  white  plume:  you  will  always  find  it  in  the  path 
to  honor  and  glory.'1 

Macaulay  in  his  Untile  of  Irry  has  told  the  story  most 
dramatically,  putting  it  into  the  mouth  of  a  loyal  French 
soldier.  The  third  stan/a  follows: 

The  kintf  is  conic  to  marshal  us,    in  all  his  armor  dressed, 
And  he  has  bound  a  snow-whit"  plume  upon  his  gallant  crest; 
lie  looked  upon  hi-  people,  and  a  tear  was  in  hi.-  eye; 
He  looked  upon  the  traitors,  and  hi-  glance  u  <is  .-tern  and  hi«h. 
Hi«ht  t-'raciously  he  smiled  on  us,  as  rolled  from  wint?  to  winu 
Down  all  our  line,  in  deafening  shout,  "Cod  save  our  lord,  the  King!" 
"And  if  my  standard-bfaror  fall,  as  fall  full  well  he  nmy,  — 
l-'or  never  saw  I  promi.-'  yet  of  such  a  Moody  fray.     - 
I're.-s  where  ye  see  my  white  plume  shine,  ;iniid-t  the  ranks  of  war, 
And  be  your  orillamme  tu-day  the  helmet  of  Navarre." 

108-111    Do  you  think  the  poem  would  he  stronger  if  these  last 
four  lines  were  omitted?    Why  or  why  not? 

THE    REVEILLE 

During  the  ten  years  preceding  the  Civil  War,  California 
was  a  scene  of  stirring  political  conflict.  Northern  and 
Southern  feeling  ran  high,  and  it  was  for  a  time  a  serious 
question  whether  the  State  would  support  the  Union.  Thonuts 
Starr  King  was  one  of  the  northern  leaders  who  planned  a  mass 
meet  ing  in  San  Francisco  just  after  Lincoln  had  made  his  first 
call  for  volunteers.  He  asked  Bret  Harte  to  write  a  poem  to 
he  read  at  this  meeting.  The  Reveille,  often  called  Tin-  Drum, 
aroused  tremendous  enthusiasm:  the  vast  audience  in  one 
prolonged  and  universal  shout  voiced  its  loyalty  to  the 
I  'nion  cause,  a:  id  I',  re;  Hartc  was  its  valiant  recruit  ing  agent  . 
Neither  the  urgent  demands  of  the  domestic  hearth  nor  the 
vi.-ion  of  the  horrors  of  the  impending  conflict,  could  still 
the  patriotic  heart  which  leaped  to  respond  to  the  reveille. 
Lew  poems  of  the  war  period  are  more  spontaneous  in  their 
tone. 


The  patriotic  spirit  of  the  (  'alifornians  of  the  war  period 
is  reflected  in  two  of  Bret  Harte's  stories,  —  Mrs.  Bunker's 
Conspiracy  and  Clarmcc. 


NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS  97 

RELIEVING   GUARD 

LINE 

Thomas  Starr  King  (1824-1864)  was  a  famous  Unitarian 
minister,  author,  and  lecturer.  lie  was  born  in  New  York 
City,  but  spent  most  of  his  life  in  Boston.  Later  when  he 
became  pastor  of  a  church  in  San  Francisco  his  most  dis 
tinguished  service  was  in  his  successful  endeavor  to  save  Cali 
fornia  to  the  Union.  He  was  a  close  friend  of  Bret  Harte,  and 
Bret  Harte's  second  son,  Francis  King,  was  given  his  middle 
name  in  recognition  of  this  friendship. 

The  poem  is  one  of  the  strongest  that  Mr.  Harte  has  writ 
ten.  There  is  deep  and  intense  feeling  that  is  all  the  more 
affecting  because  the  concise  style  holds  the  emotion  in 
unsevere  restraint.  The  effectiveness  is  increased  by  the 
dramatic  conception,  the  dramatic  setting  and  conversation, 
and  finally  by  the  religious  note  at  the  end. 
8  Is  the  pun  on  the  other's  name  effective?  Compare  line  14  in 
John  Burns  of  Gettysburg. 

ON   A   PEN   OF   THOMAS   STARR   KING 

To  the  student  of  American  literature  King  is  known  by 
his  book,  The  While  Hills:  their  Legends,  Landscapes,  and 
Poetry,  published  in  1859. 

ANNIVERSARY   POEM 

It  is  natural  that  this  poem,  written  a  few  months  after 
the  Civil  War,  should  most  strongly  reflect  the  spirit  of  that 
unhappy  time  and  contrast  the  desolation  and  carnage  of 
the  East  with  the  prosperity  and  peace  of  the  Far  West. 
1  native  East:  Bret  Harte  himself  was  from  New  York.  Many 
settlers  were  from  New  England.  Most  of  them  wTere  from 
the  states  cast  of  the  Mississippi. 

1   The  darker  tints  were  those  of  blood  shed  in  the  Civil  War. 

1  t  The  cicala  (che-ka'la)  is  the  Italian  name  for  the  cicada  — 

an  insect  family  represented  by  the  seventeen-year  locusts 

and  similar  insects. 

IS  The  long  ditch  here  referred  to  holds  the  water  used  for 

irrigating  purposes. 
19  sapper:  builder  of  fortifications. 
23,  24  What  is  the  answer  to  this  question? 

33,  34  An  allusion  to  the  falling  walls  of  Jericho.    Cf.  Joshua  vn, 
20. 


98  NOTKS.  COMMKNTS.   ANI>   i.U'KSTlUNS 

LINE 

4")  Cf.  Numbers  xx,  9-11. 
t>4,  (').")  An  .'illusion  to  the  rainless  season  in  California. 

71    M    Comment  on  the  effectiveness  of  tliis  simile. 
70  Mariposa:  The  county  of  California  in  which  the  Yost-mite 
Tails  are  situated. 


A    SANITARY    MESSACK 

There  is  carried  out  in  .4  Sanitary  Mintage  a  contrast 
similar  to  that  in  the  Anniversary  i'oini.  The  author  is 
thinking  all  the  time  of  the  sorrows  of  war  that  oppress  tin 
East.  Notice  how  the  military  figure  is  kept  up.  Name  all 
the  varied  items  and  designate  their  contrasts. 


CHIQUITA 

Browning  and  Bret  Harte  are  both  skilled  in  their  handling 
of  the  dramatic  monologue.  The  speaker's  interposed  remarks 
often  suggest  hut  do  not  exactly  specify  the  actions  that  go 
on  while  the  monologue  continues.  What,  for  example,  is 
assumed  to  take  place  when  in  line  4  the  owner  of  Chiquita 
says  Ah,  irill  you,  t/on  rix<  n  ,' 
•r>  Morgan:  a  breed  of  horses,  famous  for  their  endurance  and 

swiftness. 

7  Tuolumne  fpron.  twol'um  ne) :  a  county  in  central  California 
9  savey:  a  corruption  of  the  Spanish  saber,  "  to  know."    Sun  / 
here  means  knowledge  and  experience  —  good  sense.    What 
action  occasions  the  remark,  —  "  Quit  that  foolin'  "  ? 
13  leaders:  the  forward  pair  of  horses. 

30  The  rather  grim  humor  of  this  line  is  characteristic  of   Bret 
Harte. 


PLAIN    LANC.TACK    FROM    TIU'TIII-TL   JAMES 

This  poem,  popularly  known  under  the  title  of  Tin-  Ha/th,  n 
Chirnr,  was  first  published  in  the  On  rlntt'l  Monthly  in  Sep 
tember,  ls~U.  Its  melody  (the  technical  form  is  borrowed 
from  Swinburne)  immediately  causiht  the  public  ear,  and 
did  more  than  any  one  thing  to  make  Bret  Marie's  nan  >• 
familiar  to  the  people. 

"  Truthful  James,  himself,1  who  tells  the  story  was  a  real 

i    Hfiiry  C.  Mt-rwin:  Tin   LLJ'<  <>f  lira  Il-irtc,  p.  50. 


NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS  99 

LINE 

character,  —  nay  is,  for  at  the  writing  of  these  pages  (1911), 
he  still  lives  in  the  same  little  shanty  whore  he  was  to  be 
found  when  Bret  Harte  knew  him.  At  that  time,  in  1856,  or 
thereabout,  Bret  Harte  was  teaching  school  at  Tuttletown,  a 
few  miles  north  of  Sonora,  and  Truthful  James,  Mr.  James  W. 
Gillis,  lived  over  the  hill  from  Tuttletown,  at  a  place  called  Jack 
ass  Flat.  Mr.  Gillis  was  well  known  and  highly  respected  in  all 
that  neighborhood,  and  he  figures  not  only  in  Bret  Harte's 
poetry,  but  also  in  Mark  Twain's  works,  where  he  is  described 
as  '  The  Sage  of  Jackass  Hill.'  " 

There  is  no  deep  meaning  in  the  poem;  it  simply  tells  a 
humorous  story  humorously.  California!!  duplicity  is  met 
by  Chinese  duplicity,  and  this  last  is  then  dutifully  punished 
by  Bill  Nye.  The  swing  of  the  verse  is  infectious,  and  there  is 
enough  that  is  clever  and  peculiar  in  the  phrasing  to  attract 
and  please.  All  these  facts  explain  its  popularity.  It  is  a 
pleasure  to  add  that  Bret  Ilarte  himself  always  held  the 
poem  in  slight  regard. 

THE   SOCIETY   UPON   THE   STANISLAUS 

This  is  one  of  Bret  ?Iarte's  earlier  poems,  written,  he  tells 
us,  sometime  before  1867  and  first  printed  in  Ambrose  Bierce's 
News  Letter. 

This  poem  illustrates  in  line  28  what  is  a  distinctive  phase 
of  Bret  Harte's  humor,  —  a  tendency  not  to  exaggerate  but 
rather  to  minimize.  Instead  of  saying  that  the  chunk  of 
red  sandstone  killed  Abner  Dean  (or  perhaps  he  was  not 
killed,  but  merely  knocked  senseless)  he  cautiously  reduces 
the  expression  and  simply  remarks  that  "  the  subsequent 
proceedings  interested  him  no  more."  However,  the  minimiz 
ing  is  so  strong  that  it  suggests  exaggeration. 

11  Brown  of  Calaveras:  Bret  Harte's  short  story,  Broivn  of 
Caluveras,  portrays  this  character  very  fully.  He  is  a  large- 
framed  man  with  a  character  weakened  by  dissipation. 

25  Abner  Dean  appears  as  a  character  in  two  of  Bret  Harte's 
stories,  A  Monte  Flat  Pastoral  and  Crcssy. 

A   GREYPORT   LEGEND 

This  poem  was  first  published  in  the  Atlantic  Monthly  in 
1871.  It  is  one  of  the  few  poems  in  which  Bret  Harte  gives 
his  theme  a  religious  turn.  Religion,  indeed,  seems  to  have 


100  NOTES,  COM.MKNTS.  AND   tjUKSTIONS 

LINE 

had  no  great  dominating  influence  upon  him.  In  the  closing 
stan/a  of  this  poem,  however,  the  cry  of  the  children  who  arc 
dead  seems  to  beget  a  faith  that  draws  "  the  soul  to  i;s 
anchorage." 

25  The  definite  appeal  to  the  sen.-e  of  Miund  by  the  mentii  ri 
of  these  two  items  is  all  the  more  trenchant  because  of  the 
brooding  .-ilence  siigge.-ted  in  line  21. 

SAX    FRANCISCO 

This  poem  was  Bret  Harte's  first  contribution  to  the 
Ortrluittl.  It  is  a  frank  admission  of  the  city's  faults,  its 
cunning,  its  greed,  its  lust,  its  worship  of  material  grandeur. 
Yet  these  do  not  generate  in  the  writer  the  feeling  of  hope 
lessness  for  the  future.  Ultimately  Art  and  Culture  \\.11 
efface  all  this. 

What  is  the  significance  of  the  parenthetical  under-title'.' 
f)   Comment    on   the   phrase,  — thi'   irfiitr  xia*  xtril;<    tluir  t<  /  'N. 

11   lion's  whelp:  The  spirit  of  the  city  is  the  spirit  of  savagery. 

IS  skeptic  sneer:  her  irreligion. 

20  Franciscan  Brotherhood:  In  Bret  Harte's  stories  there  is 
frequent  allusion  to  .Jimipi'ro  Serra.  the  Franciscan  friar  who 
was  the  first  Catholic  missionary  in  California. 

36  It  is  apparent  that  the  poet  did  not  expect  the  regeneration 
of  San  Francisco  to  come  during  the  life  of  his  own  contem 
poraries. 

THE   MOUNTAIN   HEART'S  KASK 

The  interesting  point  in  this  nature  poem  is  the  comparis  in 
of  the  function  of  the  flower  with  the  function  of  the  poet. 

TO   A   SKA-HIRI) 

This  poem  reveals  to  the  imagination  a  long  stretch  of 
beach  an  1  sea,  the  slow  sailing  or  the  lax.y  rocking  of  the  bird, 
and  the  lonely  poet  musing  on  his  limitations.     He  compares 
and  contracts  his  life  with  that  of  the  r-ea-bird. 
2   In  what  sense  is  the  bird  a  vagabond? 
:5,   I    Is  the  poet  heedless  of  the  surf,  the  bar,  and  the  shale? 

">   Why  does  the  poet  ask  for  this  company? 
f>-10   Is  the  poet  right  in  considering  such  u  life  monotonous? 
10-15  What  is  the  limitation  of  each? 


NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS  101 

LINE 

15-20  Contrast  the  desire  of  each. 

18  shingle:  loose  gravel  and  small  stones  worn  smooth  by  the 
water. 

What  do  you  think  of  the  meter  of  this  poem  and  its 
adaptation  to  the  theme  ? 

WHAT  THE  CHIMNEY  SANG 

This  poem  well  illustrates  the  different  feelings  which  the 
same  phenomenon  will  arouse  in  different  persons.  How  do 
you  account  for  this  difference? 

5  forced:  Can  you  justify  the  false  rhyme? 

6  Why  did  the  woman  hate  the  wind? 

10-12  Is  there  any  connection  between  the  witch  and  the  fairy? 
15  What  is  your  idea  of  the  character  and  social  position  of  this 

man? 
22,  23  In  what  way  was  the  poet  all  three?   Of  the  four,  who  got 

most  joy  from  the  sound?  who  got  least? 

DICKENS   IN   CAMP 

"  When  news  of  the  death  of  Dickens  reached  Bret  Harte 
he  was  camping  in  the  Foot-IIills  far  from  San  Francisco,  but 
he  sent  a  telegram  to  hold  back  for  a  day  the  printing  of  the 
Overland,  then  ready  for  the  press,  and  his  poem  was  written 
that  night  and  forwarded  the  next  morning."  -—  Merwin. 

There  is  no  question  of  Bret  Harte's  admiration  for  Dick 
ens.  Aside  from  the  sincere  and  tender  praise  in  this  poem, 
there  are  frequent  scenes  and  passages  in  his  stories  which 
reveal  —  perhaps  unconsciously  —  the  methods  and  devices 
of  Dickens.  And  this  is  a  silent  but  expressive  tribute  of  the 
younger  to  the  older  author.  It  is  pleasant  to  add  to  this  the 
regard  of  Dickens  for  Harte.  Among  the  last  letters  that 
Dickens  wrote  was  one  in  which  he  invited  Bret  Harte  to 
contribute  a  story  to  "  All  the  Year  Round." 

The  most  marked  characteristics  of  Dickens  in  Camp  is 
the  brooding  sense  of  heart-tribute  felt  in  each  line.  This  deep 
but  restrained  emotion  and  the  sweet  melody  of  the  verse 
make  the  poem  immortal.  The  method  employed  is  tribute 
by  effect.  We  are  not  told  directly  that  Dickens  is  an  inter 
esting  story-teller  ;  instead  we  are  made  to  feel  the  silent 
tension  of  this  interest  on  the  faces  of  the  miners  grouped 
about  that  western  camp-fire. 


102  NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS 

LINE 
10  \Vh:it  \v:is  the  title  of  this  volume  ?  Why  hoarded1} 

30  Note  the  significance  of  the  interrogation  point. 

31  Kentish:   Dickens's  home,  during  the  last   ten  years  of  his 
life,  was  at  dad's  Hill,  in  Kent. 

37—10  impress  in  your  own  words  the  thought  of  this  last  stanza. 


THE    MISSION    BELLS   OF    MONTEREY 

This  is  the  most  purely  lyrical  poem  that  Bret  Harte  hc.s 
written,  and  is  the  only  one  —  s«  far  as  the  present  editor  is 
aware  —  that  has  been  set  to  music.  The  composer  is  Mon 
sieur  Charles  ( iounod. 

Monterey  is  a  small  village  in  Monterey  C'ounty,  Cali 
fornia.  In  1770  the  Spaniards  established  a  mission.  The 
picturesqueness  of  missions  appealed  strongly  to  Bret  Harte, 
and  he  reflects  this  appeal  in  this  poem,  The  Anydus,  and 
in  many  of  his  stories. 

Monterey  is  situated  about  ninety  miles  southeast  of  San 
Francisco.  Here  the  San  Carlos  mission  was  formally  estab 
lished  in  June,  1770.  The  bells,  brought  from  Spain,  were  an 
important  feature.  Some  were  of  bronze  and  others  of  silvt  r, 
and  there  was  an  effective  variety  in  their  tones.  The  mission 
during  the  process  of  years  sunk  into  decay,  but.  it  was  re 
stored  in  ISS'J. 

3  reddened:  referring  to  the  color  of  the  soil. 

f>  Explain  the  line. 

ti  Eleison:  In  the  mass  we  have  the  expression,  Chrixtt-  Kb-won  ! 
May  the  Lord  have  mercy!  Bret  Harte  uses  the  word  here  as 
an  adjective,  suggesting  that  the  bells  are  calling  to  divine 
worship, 
s    1  1    Why  this  discord0 

THE   ANC.ELUS 

Bret  Harte's  interest  in  the  missions  is  seen  in  the  preceding 
poem. 

The  Mission  Dolores  H  often  called  San  Francisco  <le  A  is, 
after  St.  Francis  of  As.-isi.  The  Mission  Dolores  takes  its 
name  from  the  Dolores  —  a  stream  which  has  since  dried  up. 
Ih  Presidio:  a  fortified  building.  Each  of  these  Spanish  Missions 
was  protected  by  military  guard.  The  monks  expected  to  use 
these  soldiers  to  force  conversion  of  the  Indians,  if  force  were 


NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS  103 

LINE 

found  necessary.     The  California   Indians  were  peaceable, 
however,  and  were  easily  converted. 

21  Portola:  Portolfi  was  the  Spanish  governor  in  California  at 
the  time  of  the  founding  of  the  first  missions.  He  cooperated 
with  the  Franciscan  fathers.  The  Mission  Dolores  was 
founded  June  17,  1776. 

Laura  Bride  Powers  in  The  Missions  of  Calif ornia  speaks  of 
the  quaint  adobe  chapel  of  Mission  Dolores  as  "  the  precious 
link  that  joins  our  civilization  of  to-day  with  the  romantic 
mission  period." 

THE   LUCK   OF   ROARING   CAMP 

The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp  was  the  first  great  literary 
success  of  Bret  Harte's,  and  from  the  date  of  its  publication 
in  the  Overland  Monthly  in  1868  it  has  steadily  maintained  its 
immediately  acquired  popularity. 

This  popularity  may  be  accounted  for  partly  because  of  its 
vivid  portrayal  of  California  mining  life  —  local  color,  if  we 
w7ish  to  employ  a  very  much  overworked  compound  —  and 
partly  because  of  its  evidently  sincere  sentiment.  It  is  prob 
ably  true  that  popular  taste  was  caught  by  the  first  and  has 
been  since  held  by  the  second.  The  story  is  in  Bret  Harte's 
most  characteristic  vein  —  it  shows  elemental  virtue  existent 
behind  crudeness  of  manner,  dress,  and  speech.  The  uncouth- 
ness  of  the  mining  camp  is  invested  with  a  certain  ideal  grace 
which  the  presence  of  a  child  mysteriously  fashions. 

PAGE 

26  primal  curse:  Cf.  Gen.  in,  16. 

first  transgression:  the  eating  of  the  forbidden  fruit  in  the 
Garden  of  Eden. 

27  ab  initio:  from  the  beginning, 
putative:  supposed. 

28  until  it  was  lost  in  the  stars  above :  phrase  effective  in  enforc 
ing  the  ascension  of  the  road. 

The  pines  stopped,  etc.:  Find  in  Bret  Harte  other  examples 
of  the  sympathy  of  nature  with  the  moods  of  men. 

29  Romulus  and  Remus:  These  legendary  founders  of  Rome 
were,  according  to  story,  suckled  by  a  wolf  and  thus  pre 
served  from  death. 

derringer:  a  kind  of  pistol. 

doubloon :  a  Spanish  coin  varying  in  value  from  five  to  fifteen 

dollars. 


104  NOTES.  COMMENTS.   AND  QUESTIONS 

PAGE 

30  slung-shot:  a  metal  hull,  with  ;i  string  attached,  used  as  rt 

weapon. 

rastled:  a  corruption  of  wn*t!«I. 
32  "The  Coyote":   This  animal  impressed  Bret  Harte.   Cf.  his 

poem,  Cot/oli'- 

3f>  Cockney  Simmons:    In  Tennessee's  Partner  we  %ei  a  notion 
of  how  names  arc  applied.   Simmons  was  evidently  a  nati\e 
of  C.reenwieh,  England,  and  spoke  a  cockney  dialect. 
Mariposas:  Spanish  for  butterfly.  The  word  is  here  applied  to 
a  kind  of  flower  whose  petals  have  the  iris  of  a  butterfly 'swing. 

3C>  albeit  there  was  an  infantine  gravity,  etc.:  This  detail  is 
evidently  meant  to  bo  a  .slight  foreshadowing  of  Luck's 
tragic  end. 

38  Note  that  Bret  Harte  does  not  prolong  the  conclusion  of  his 
story.  He  closes  with  the  evidence  of  Kentuck's  splendid 
loyalty  and  sacrifice,  and  allows  the  reader's  mind  to  dwell 
on  that  significant  detail.  The  feeling  of  the  camp  is  evident 
though  unmentioned. 

THE    OUTCASTS   OF    POKER    FLAT 

Bret  Harte  as  a  story-teller  sometimes  seems  as  aloof  and 
impersonal  as  a  photographer.  In  Tftc  Outcast.*  of  1'uktr  I1' Lit 
he  does  not  seem  to  be  as  much  concerned  with  the  desire  to 
portray  beauty  as  he  is  with  the  desire  to  portray  truth.  If 
ugliness  chances  to  come  within  the  sweep  of  his  camera  and 
to  reveal  itself  on  the  sensitized  film,  Bret  Harte  does  not  1:1 
the  printing  blot  out  the  smutches.  Uncle  Billy  is  a  thief  and 
his  thievery  is  exposed.  The  Duchess  and  Mother  Shipton 
show  the  evil  of  their  past  lives.  John  Oakhurst  commits, 
suicide,  and  this  act  is  frankly  revealed.  The  artist  having 
once  chosen  a  site  on  which  to  set  up  his  tripod  and  camera, 
lets  the  mechanism  disclose  what  realities  lie  within  its  ran:.1''. 
But  even  so,  it  is  quite  evident  that  the  site  is  chosen  will,  a 
deliberate  plan  to  hide  the  most  pronounced  imliness  and.  in 
the  case  of  the  gambler  and  the  women,  to  picture  them  :it 
their  best.  To  have  pictured  them  in  their  entirety  would 
have  offended  our  higher  taste.  Art  is  always  selective. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  further,  that  these  successive 
exposures  are  made  not  so  much  to  reveal  scenes  as  to  revi  d 
character.  Xor  do  we  feel  that  the  characters  themselves  ;  re 
very  different  at  the  end  from  what  they  are  at  the  beginni:  g. 
We  simply  sec  them  in  the  fortuitous  situation  that  reveals 
their  charm,  their  tenderness,  their  sacrificial  intent. 


NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS  105 

PAGE 

Poker  Flat  was  in  Sierra  County,  California,  and  frequently 
witnessed  just  such  a  storm  as  is  here  described. 

40  He  was  too  much  of  a  gambler,  etc.:  Bret  Harte,  though 
never  a  gambler  himself,  is  fond  of  portraying  the  type.  There 
were  elements  in  such  gamesters  as  Jack  Hamlin  and  Mr- 
Oakhurst  that  strongly  appealed  to  our  author.  They  were 
good  losers;  they  were  generous;  they  were  free  from  cant. 
And  these  traits  certainly  arc  saving  graces.  Then,  too,  as 
long  as  Bret  Harte  was  portraying  the  life  of  the  Forty 
Niners  he  could  not  omit  the  gambler-group. 

40  Parthian  volley:  The  Parthians,  who  occupied  Parthia,  in 
Asia,  were  accustomed  to  shoot  their  arrows  at  enemies  in 
retreat.  A  Parthian  shot  is,  therefore,  a  parting  shot. 

44  Suddenly  an  idea:  What  idea  had  just  come  to  Uncle  Billy  ? 

45  his  usual  calm:  Perhaps  no  trait  in  Mr.  Oakhurst's  character 
is  more  striking  than  his  calmness.    And  it  is  his  perfect  com 
posure  that  gives  him  dominance.    Note  how  it  contrasts 
with  the  gayety  of  the  Innocent. 

46  cached:  hidden. 

47  Covenanter:  The  covenanters  were  a  group  of  Scotchmen 
strong   in   their   Presbyterian   faith   who,  leagued  together 
stood  up  stoutly  against  the  oppression  of  Charles  I. 
nigger-luck:  illogically  good  luck.  It  was  used  by  the  miners 
to  characterize  the  luck  which  came  to  the  ignorant  and  the 
incapacitated  as  opposed  to  the  wise  and  the  judicious. 

48  Mr.   Pope's  ingenious  translation  of   the   Iliad:   The  term 
ingenious  is  justified  because  Pope's  translation  is  very  free 
and  inaccurate.  The  famous  remark  of  Richard  Bentley  was 
"  a  pretty  poem,  Mr.  Pope,  but  you  must  not  call  it  Homer." 
argument:  outline  of  the  story. 

son  of  Peleus:  Achilles.   Cf.  Classical  Dictionary.   Note  the 
Innocent's  pronunication. 

49  Is  Mother  Shipton's  death  due  to  suicide  deliberately  planned 
because  she  wanted  release  from  life;  or  is  it  due  to  her  desire 
to  make  a  sacrifice  ? 

Comment  on  Bret  Harte's  skill  in  portraying  character. 
By  what  means  does  he  make  us  feel  the  supreme  domination 
of  Oakhurst  over  the  other  members  of  the  company?  Note 
how  Piney  acts  as  a  character  foil  to  the  Duchess  and  Mother 
Shipton,  and  "  The  Innocent  "  to  Mr.  Oakhurst.  What  is 
Mother  Shipton's  favorite  way  of  revealing  her  animosity 
to  the  rulers  of  Poker  Flat  ?  Comment  on  the  part  which 
nature  plays  in  this  story.  Is  the  tragic  end  of  the  story  in 
anyway  foreshadowed? 


IOC)  NOTF.S,  COMMKXTS,  AND  ijl'KSTIONS 

TKXXKSSKK'S    I'AUTXKR 

PAGE 

Tennessee's  I'artntr  was,  like  most  of  Bret  Harte's  stories, 
suggested  by  a  real  incident,  lnit  as  the  following  item  from 
a  C'alifornia  newspaper1  of  June,  1 '.)():>,  shows,  Mr.  Harte  lias 
considerably  deepened  the  shadows: 

"  ,J.  A.ChatTee,  famous  as  the  original  of  TcntK $••«•>  '.s-  1'artncr, 
has  liecn  brought  to  an  Oakland  Sanitarium.  He  lias  been 
living  since  IS  HI  in  a  small  Tuolumne  county  mining  camp 
with  his  partner  Chamberlain.  In  the  early  days  he  saved 
Chamberlain  from  the  vigilance  committee  hy  a  plea  to  Judge 
Lynch  when  the  vigilantes  had  a  rope  around  the  victim's 
throat.  .  .  .  Chamberlain  was  accused  of  stealing  the 
miner's  gold,  but  ChalTee  cleared  him,  as  every  one  believed 
ChalTee.  The  two  men  settled  down  to  live  where  they  have 
remained  ever  since,  washing  out  enough  placer  gold  to 
maintain  them.  .  .  .  Both  men  are  over  eighty." 

In  one  of  Bret  llarte's  lectures2 — the  one  on  the  Argo 
nauts  —  he  tells  us  of  the  splendid  loyalty  of  the  friendships 
among  miners:  — 

"  To  be  a  man's  '  partner  '  signified  something  more  than 
a  common  pecuniary  or  business  interest;  it  was  to  be  his 
friend  through  good  or  ill  report,  in  adversity,  or  fortune,  to 
cleave  to  him  and  none  other —  to  be  ever  jealous  of  him! 
.  .  .  To  insult  a  man's  partner  was  to  insult  him;  to  step 
between  two  partners  in  a  quarrel  was  attended  with  the 
name  danger  and  uncertainty  that  involves  the  peacemaker 
in  a  conjugal  dispute.  ...  In  these  unions  there  were  the 
same  odd  combinations  often  seen  in  the  marital  relations: 
a  tall  and  a  short  man,  a  delicate  sickly  youth  and  a  middle- 
aged  man  of  powerful  frame,  a  grave  reticent  nature  and  a 
spontaneous  exuberant  one.  Yet  in  spite  of  these  incongru 
ities  there  was  always  the  same  blind  unreasoning  fidelity  to 
each  other." 

Bret  I  lart  e  has  revealed  this  feeling  of  loyalty  in  friendship  in 
Captain  Jhn'x  Frit  n<l,  hi  tin  Tiili*.  Uncle  Jim  ami  Uncle  Hilh/, 
and  in  several  of  his  poems,  but  nowhere  are  abiding  loyalty 
and  elemental  stanchness  revealed  more  strongly  than  in 
Tennessee's  I'artnrr.  The  primness  of  the  story  is  relieved 
by  the  pathos  of  masculine  devotion  — stalwart  and  unde- 
viating  and  tender. 

1   S(M>  Mrrwin's  Life  of  Bret  Hartr  (p.  10.")).  Houston  Mifflin  ('ompiuiy. 
1   1'iihlinhccl  .•!.•<  an  Introduction  to  Talcs  of  the  Argonauts.     Houghton    MifTlin 
Company. 


tfOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS  107 

PAGE 

52  Boston:  Bret  Harte  uses  his  characters  over  and  over  again. 
In  The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp  there  is  a  noted  wag  of  this 
name  who  prepares  the  burlesque  christening  service.  There 
is  also  a  Boston —  perhaps  the  same  one  — in  The  Poet  of  the 
Sierra  Flat. 

54  gambler's  epigram:  Note  in  The  Outcasts  of  Poker  Flat,  also, 
Mr.  Oakhurst's  expressive  gambling  metaphors.  Bret  Harte's 
friend,  Thomas  Starr  King,  the  famous  San  Francisco  divine, 
one  Sunday  after  he  had  preached  a  strong  controversial 
sermon  overheard  an  enthusiastic    parishioner   question    a 
friend,  —  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  King  now  ?  "  "  Think 
of  him,"  responded  his  friend,  "why,  he  took  every  trick." 
chaparral-crested:  Chaparral  (Span.)  an  evergreen  oak  tree, 
but  used  to  describe  any  dense  thicket  of  low  bushes. 

55  Study  the  descriptive  paragraph  at  the  top  of  this  page  and 
note  the  skill  shown  in  the  selection  of  items  which  give 
significance  to  the  scene. 

56  trousers  had  been  patched:  In  Bret  Harte's  story  —  Left  out 
on  Lone  Star  Mountain  —  one  of  the  characters  is  nicknamed 
"  Union  Mills,"  because  at  one  time  a  patch  on  his  trousers 
had  borne  that  legend.    Cf.  the  beginning  of    Tennessee's 
Partner  to  note  how  nicknames  were  often  applied. 

57  Did  the  miner  offer  the  money  as  a  bribe,  or  simply  as  a 
recompense  for  losses  ? 

59  Bret  Harte's  use  of  nature  is  one  of  the  interesting  devices 
employed.   Comment  on  the  effect  here  produced. 

60  sluicing:  a  sluice  or  sluice-box  was  a  trough  used  by  miners 
in  washing  the  earth  to  find  gold. 

Jack  Folinsbee:  See  Bret  Harte's  An  Heiress  of  Red  Dog  and 
The  Romance  of  Madrono  Hollow. 

See  comment  on  the  second  paragraph  of  this  page  on  page 
xv  of  the  Introduction. 

62  his  face  buried  in  his  red  bandana  handkerchief:  Bret  Harte 
is  skilful  in  the  suggestion  of  pathos;  he  never  allows  himself 
to  dwell  on  pathetic  scenes  —  a  glimpse,  and  the  curtain  is 
drawn. 

63  Comment  on  the  ending. 

THE   ILIAD   OF   SANDY   BAR 

This  story  shows  the  ultimate  loyalty  of  friendship  be 
tween  partners,  —  a  loyalty  triumphing  over  a  long  period 
of  separation  and  hostility.  A  slight  incident  —  humorous  in 
its  triviality  — •  makes  the  breach,  which  widens  and  deepens 


108  NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AM)  QUESTIONS 

PAGE 

with  the  years.  The  prosperity  of  York  helps  finally  to 
soften  his  belligerent  spirit,  ami  he  returns  to  Sandy  liar  to 
seek  out  his  old  friend  .Scott.  The  story  closes  with  their 
reconciliation,  —  grim  hut  complete,  —  and  a  smile  plays  with 
a  deeper  emotion  as  we  learn  only  in  the  presence  of  death 
that  the  partnership  \vas  broken  and  their  lives  sundered 
merely  because  there  was  "  too  much  saleratus  "  in  the  bis 
cuits  which  York  had  baked.  The  moM  striking  charac 
teristic  of  the  story  Ls  the  skilful  intermingling  of  sly  humor 
and  reserved  pathos. 

65  pan  of  yellow  biscuit:  Where  is  the  significance  of  this  detail 
seen  by  the  reader?  Note  that  Bret  Harte  by  introducing 
few  items  into  his  description  of  the  cabin  as  it  appeared  on 
the  morning  of  the  quarrel  allows  a  proper  amount  of  em 
phasis  to  fall  unobtrusively  upon  this  detail. 
Colonel  Starbottle:  One  of  the  most  striking  and  most 
ubiquitous  of  Bret  Harte's  characters.  This  chivalrous 
Kentucky  colonel  plays  an  important  role  in  a  score  of  the 
author's  stories.  Bret  Harte  had  written  two  short  paragraphs 
of  .-1  Friend  i if  ('(ilnml  Sfnrholtli  'N  just  before  his  last  illness, 
but  the  story,  barely  begun,  remained  incomplete. 

06  Jack  Hamlin:  He  shares  with  Colonel  Starbottle  the  honor 
of  popularity  and  frequency  of  appearance  in  Bret   Harte's 
stories.  His  gambling  propensities  lead  him  into  many  scenes 
and  adventures,  and  through  them  all  he  preserves  a  calm 
ness   and   a   dexterity   that   win   admiration   even   from    his 
enemies.    He  is  especially  popular  with  women  and  children. 
said  "  Shu."    A  sly  bit  of  humor  that  helps  to  portray  the 
colonel's  character. 

07  seeming  paradox:  What  was  the  paradox? 
guileless  Arcadia:  Explain  the  sarcasm. 

Pactolian:  pertaining  to  Pactolus,  a  river  in  Lydia  whose 
waters,  touched  by  Midas,  made  the  river  sands  golden. 

08  Emphasis  upon  the  cause  of  the  quarrel  helps  to  increase  the 
humor  of  the  denouement. 

pretty  daughter  of  "old  man  Folinsbee":  Old  man  Folinsbee 
is  a  Yankee  who  moves  to  California.  He  appears  as  a  char 
acter  in  The  Romance  nf  Madrono  Hollow.  The  daughter  also 
figures  in  the  same  story.  Head  the  poems  II, r  Litter,  Hi* 
A  nxu'cr  tn  In  r  Litter,  and  Her  Last  Litttr.  These  all  deal  with 
the  affairs  of  Miss  Jo  Folinsbee  and  her  lover  ,loe. 

72  philippic:  consult  the  dictionary  for  meaning  and  derivation. 

7^  Hector  —  myrmidons:  Hector,  the  Trojan,  was  defeated  by 
1'atroclus,  the  (ireek,  and  his  Mvrrnidon-;. 


NOTES,  COMMENTS,  AND  QUESTIONS  109 

PAGE 

Lily  of  Poverty  Flat:  so  called  in  the  poem,  Her  Letter. 
'  Jo  ' :  the  lover  of  the  Lily  of  Poverty  Flat. 
76  Sacramento:  where  Scott  had  gone  to  the  legislature  after 
defeating  York. 


HOW  SANTA  GLAUS  CAME  TO  SIMPSON'S  BAR 

One  of  the  recurring  themes  in  literature  is  that  of  sacrifice 
for  the  sake  of  a  child's  happiness.  Whatever  is  crude,  or  un 
couth  or  ethically  awry  in  the  character  of  Dick  Bullen  is 
immediately  pardoned  —  forgotten  almost  —  because  he 
was  willing  to  undergo  hardship  and  face  danger  in  order 
that  he  might  give  to  the  little  boy  at  Sandy  Bar  the  joy  of 
those  first  Christmas  toys.  The  story  emphasizes  a  faith 
which  was  inherent  in  Bret  Harte,  —  the  essential  virtue 
and  tenderness  that  a  rude  environment  could  not  destroy. 

78  Dick  Bullen,  "  the  oracle  and  leader  of  Simpson's  Bar,"  is 
also  introduced  as  a  character  in  Uncle  Jim  and  Uncle  Billy, 
where  his  taunts  tend  to  make  Uncle  Jim  discontented  with 
his  life  at  Cedar  Camp. 

79  Tom  Flynn:  a  Virginia  miner  who  also  plays  a  part  in  The 
Fool  of  Five  Forks. 

82  a    face  .  .  .  evil    knowledge    from  within:    When    Horace 
Greeley  visited  California  in   1859  he  was  particularly  im 
pressed  with  the  evils  surrounding  the  children.   He  saw  the 
need  of  education  and  wrote  that  there  ought  to  be  two 
thousand  good  common  schools  in  operation  but  he  feared 
there  would  not  be  six  hundred.    Boys  grew  up  on  the  streets 
and  were  early  subjected  to  the  temptation  of  the  evil  environ 
ment  of  that  rough  and  irreligious  pioneer  life. 

83  orneriest:  the  superlative  of  ornery,  generally  explained  as  a 
corruption  of  ordinary.  The  word,  however,  was  always  con 
temptuously  applied. 

sabe:  Spanish  saber,  to  know;  equivalent  to  sense. 

84fF.  Oddly  enough,  etc.:  Mr.  Harte's  humor  is  here  that  of 
obvious  and  refined  exaggeration. 

85  Why,  dad!  Bret  Harte's  use  of  pathos  is  almost  always  brief 
and  intermittent.    He  merely  suggests  the  emotion  and  artis 
tically  refrains  from  dwelling  upon  it. 
In  the  quiet,  etc. :  note  the  harmonizing  effect  of  nature's  mood. 

S7  pasear:  Spanish  for  walk  or  promenade. 

87,88    He  turned  and  reentered  the  house:  Study  this  paragraph 
to  discover  the  mean?  employed  to  secure  the  vivid  effect. 


110  NOTES,  COMMKNTS,  AND  QUESTIONS 

PACE 

88  machillas:  The  present  editor  ha."  hoen  unable  to  find  the  ex 
act  meaning  of  this  word,  as  it  is  explained  in  none  of  the  refer 
ence  hooks  to  which  he  has  had  access.  It  is  probably  a  hybrid 
locally  used  to  refer  to  a  port  ion  of  the  saddle  which  sits  close 
to  the  horse's  back. 

off  stirrup:  right  stirrup.    The  left  side  of  a  horse  is  the  near 
side. 

89  Sing,  O  Muse,  etc.:  an  imitation  of  the  beginnings  of  classic 
epics.    (T.  Homer  and  Virgil. 

90  Pinto  boss:  mottled,  piebald.     Elsewhere  Bret  Harte  spells 
it  without  the  capital. 

data:  lariat. 

91  invitation  in  "  Excelsior."   Cf.  Longfellow's  Excelsior :  — 

"()  stay,"  the  maiden  said,  "  and  rent 

Thy  weary  head  upon  this  breast!" 

A  tear  stood  in  his  bright  blue  eye 

And  Btill  he  answered  with  a  nigh. 

Excelsior! 


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83.  Eliot's  Silas  Marner.     Paper,  .30  ;  linen,  .40. 

M.   Dana's  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast.     Linen,  .60. 

85.   Hughes's  Tom  Brown's  School  Days.    Paper,  .45  j  linen,  .50. 

sli.   Scott's  Ivanhoe.     1'ajier,  .50  ;  linen,  .60. 

87.  Defoe's  Robinson  Crusoe.     Linen,  .(JO. 

88.  Stowe's  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.    Linen,  .60. 

89.  Swift's  Gulliver's  Voyage  to  Lilliput.     Paper,  .15. 

90.  Swift's  Gulliver's  Voyage  to  Brobdingnag.     J'aper,  .15.    Nos.  89,  90,   one  vol., 

linen,  .40. 

91.  Hawthorne's  House  of  the  Seven  Gables.     Paper,  .50  \  linen,  .00. 

92.  Burroughs's  A  Bunch  of  Herbs,  etc.     J'a/ier,  .15 

93.  Shakespeare's  As  5fou  Like  It.     J'aper,  .15;  linen,  .25. 

94.  Milton's  Paradise  Lost.     Books  I-III.     J'aper,  .15.     Nos.  72,  94,  one  vol  ,  linen,  .40. 
95-iK.  Cooper's  Last  of  the  Mohicans.    One  vol.,  linen,  .00. 

99.   Tennyson's  Coming  of  Arthur,  etc.     J'aper,  .15. 

UK)    Burke's  Speech  on  Conciliation  with  the  Colonies.     Paper,  .15  ;  linen,  .'25 
nil.   Pope's  Iliad.     Books  1   VI,  XXII,  XXIV.     Paper.  .15  <  linen,  .25 
li>2    Macaulay's  Johnson  and  Goldsmith.    Paper,  .15;  linen,  .25 
In3.  Macaulay's  Essay  on  John  Milton.     J'aper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 
ID-*    Macaulay's  Life  and  Writings  of  Addison.    Paper,  .15  ;   linen,  .25.      Nos,   103, 

104,  one  vol.,  linen,  .40. 

1H5.   Carlyle's  Essay  on  Burns.     Paper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 
]:»',.   Shakespeare's  Macbeth.     Paper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 

11)7,108.   Grimms' Tales.    In  two  parts,  each,  paper,  .15.    NOB.  107, 108,  one  vol.,  linen,  40. 
lull.   Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress.    I'aper,  .30 ;  linen,  .40. 

110.  De  Quincey's  Flight  of  a  Tartar  Tribe.     Paper,  .15;  linen,  .25. 

111.  Tennyson's  Princess.     J'aper,  .30.    Also,  in  Kol/e's  Students'  Series,  to  Teachers, 

112.  Virgil's  jEneid.    Books  I-III.    Translated  by  CRANCH.     Paper,  .15. 

113.  Poems  from  Emerson.     Paper,  .15.    Nos.  113,  42,  one  vol.,  /men,  .40. 

114.  Peabody's  Old  Greek  Folk  Stories.     Paper,  .15;  linen,  .25. 

115.  Browning's  Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,  etc     Paper,  ,15  ;  linen,  25 
llii.   Shakespeare's  Hamlet.     J'aper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 

117,  118.   Stories  from  the  Arabian  Nights.    In  two  parts,  each,  paper,  .15.    Nos.  H7, 

118,  one  vol.,  linen,  .40. 

119.   Poe's  The  Raven,  The  Fall  of  the  House  of  Usher,  etc.     J'aiier,  .15  ;  linen,  .2fe- 
2(1.   Poe's  The  Gold-Bug,  etc.     J'aper,  .15.    Nos.  119,  120,  one  vol.,  linen,  .40. 

21.  Speech  by  Robert  Young  Hayne  on  Foote's  Resolution.     J'aper.  .15. 

22.  Speech   by  Daniel  Webster  in  Reply  to  Hayne.    J'aper,  .15.    NOB.  121,  122,  one 

vol.,  linen,  .4(1. 

23.  Lowell's  Democracy,  etc.     Pirner,  .15. 

24.  Aldrich's  The  Cruise  of  the  Dolphin,  etc.     Paper,   1,5. 
2.).   Dryden's  Palamon  and  Arcite.     I'aper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 

2t>.   Ruskin's  King  of  the  Golden  River,  etc.    J'aper,  .15;  linen,  .25. 

-'7.  Keats's  Ode  on  a  Grecian  Urn,  etc.     Paper,  .15. 

-M.   Byron's  Prisoner  of  Chillon,  etc.     Paper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 

'.".I.  Plato's  Judgment  of  Socrates.    Translated  by  P.  E.  MORE.     I'aper,  .15. 

3D.   Emerson's  The  Sxiperlative,  and  Other  Ess'ays,  etc.    Paper,  .15 

31.  Emerson  s  Nature,  and  Compensation.     Paper,  .15. 

32.  Arnold's  Sohrab  and  Rustum,  etc.     Paper,  .15  ;  linen,  25. 

,'i'i.   Schurz's  Abraham  Lincoln.     J'aper,  .15.    NOB.  133,  32,  one  vol  ,  linen,  .40 

34.  Scott's  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.     J'aper,  .'M.    Al*o,  in  Rolfe's  Students'  Series,  to 

Teachers,  net,  .53. 

.'!5.   Chaucer's  Prologue.     Paper.  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 
:>;.  Chaucer's   The  Knight's  Tale,  and   The  Nun's  Priest's  Tale.     Paper,  .15 

Nos.  135,  130.  one  vol.,  linen,  .40. 

37.   Bryant's  Iliad.     Hooks  I,  VI,  XXII,  and  XXIV      I'aper,  .15. 
:ix   Hawthorne's  The  Custom  House,  and  Main  Street.     J'aper,  .15. 

35.  Howells's  Doorstep  Acquaintance,  and  Other  Sketches.    Paper,  .15. 
in.   Thackeray's  Henry  Esmond.     Linen,  .75. 

41.   Three  Outdoor  Papers,  by  THOMAS  WENTWOKTII  HiooiNSOtf.    J'aper,   15. 
12.   Ruskin's  Sesame  and  Lilies.     Paper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 

''I.   Plutarch's  Life  of  Alexander  the  Great.    North's  Translation.    Paper,  .15 
41.   Souddcr's  The  Book  of  Legends.     I'aper,  .15  ;  /men,  .25. 
1.1.   Hawthorne's  The.Gentle  Boy,  etc.     J'aper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 
4>i.   Longfellow's  Giles  Corey.     Paper,  .15. 
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,',il.   Tennyson's  Gareth  and  Lynette,  etc.     J'aper,    15  ;  linen,  .25. 
57    The  Song  of  Roland.    Translated  by  ISABEL  BUTLER.     Paper,  .30  ;  /men,  40 
.is.   Malory's  Book  of  Merlin  and  Book  of  Sir  Balin.     Paper,  .15  i  /men,  25. 
.Vi.    Beowulf.     Translated  by  C.  G.  CIIH.D.     Paper,  .15  ;  linen,  .25. 
On.    Spenser's  Faerie  Oueene.     Hook  I.     J'a/ier,  .30  ;  /men,  .40 
i'il.    Dickeiis's  Tale  of  Two  Cities.     Paper.  .45  ;  /men,  .50. 

H2.  Prose  and  Poetry  of  Cardinal  Newman.    .Selections.    Paper,  30  ;  /wen,   40 
IM.    Shakespeare's  Henry  V.     Paper,  .15;  linen,  .25. 
KM     D*  Oujueev'n  Joan  of  Are.  and  The  English  Muil-Coauh       Paper,    li  ;  linen,  .ii 


^Literature  Scries? 


It33.  Soott'a  Quentin  Durw.ird.     Pii/irr  ..10  i  linen.  .*). 

!•>;.  Curlyle's  Heroes  niid  Hero-  Worship.    Pai>rr.  .45  ;  linn,  .30. 

It;:.  Norton's  Memoir  of  Longfellow.     Paprr,  .in  ;  /mm,  .i'.. 

!•>.  Slielley'B  Poems.     Seln-ted.     I'ujirr,  .4.1;  /in^«.   3n. 

K.I.  Lowell's  My  Garden  Acquaintance.  etc.     I'/t/ifi  .  .1.1. 

IT".  Lamb's  Essays  of  Elia.     S.  Iwted.     I'<i/-rr.  .:>o     linm    MI 

171.  17'J.   Emerson's   Essays.     .-i-U-rteci.      In  t 

OIH-  vol.,  /mm.  .411. 

I7X  Kate  Douelas  Wi^eni's  Flae-Raising.    7'<i;,< 

174.  Kate  Douclas  Wit;i_rin's  Finding  a  Home.     /'-i;  <•/-,  .1:.  ;  /m.  «,  .25 

17.1.  Bliss  1'crry  s  Memoir  of  Whittier      /'«/.»•»•.  .15;  Hntn,.X>. 

17-;.  Burroughs^  Afoot  and  Afloat.     J'«;-rr,  .15;  <m«n,  .25. 

K7.  Bacon's  Essays.     Ai/»'r.  .'JO;  fiwii.    4d. 

.  Selections  from  the  Works  of  John  Ruskin.     /'</;»•'•,  4.1i  /men,  .40, 

IT'.i.  KinK  Arthur  Stories  from  Malory.     /'<MK  r,  ..">o  ;  luir?i,  Ao. 

i-Ji.  Palmer's  Odyssey      .IV  -i'./.;»/  /-.'iiitinti.    Lnirn.  ,7fi. 

HI,  l.ti.  Goldsmith's  The  Good-Natured  Man,  and  She  Stoops  to  Conquer.    Km 

7»i;.T,.  I.',;  111  one  vol..  //».-».  .411. 

K'.  Old  English  and  Scottish  Ballads.     Paiirr.  .:t\  •.  linen,  .*!. 

!••(.  Shakespeare's  KiUR  Lear.     /'«/«•/•,  .1,1  ;  niicn,  .i) 

IV..  Moores'a  Abraham  Lincoln.     /'<i/wr.  .13  i  /men,  .2S. 

1-:.  Thoreau's  Katahdin  and  Chesnneook.     I'liftr.  lr,  \l\ntn,  2.S. 

1-7.  Huxley's  Autobiography   i>t<¥.     /'u/»  r,   i:. 

K".  Huxley's  Essays.    Selected.     /'„,.'•.  .1:,     No».  1-7.  INS.  on.'  vol.,  /;«.  w,  •.'.' 

Ixi.  Byron's  Childe  Harold.  'Janto  IV.  i-tr      ]',i/,,  >:  .1:,  :  /i«.»,  M. 

!.«'.  Washington's  Farewell  Address,  aiid  Webster's  Bunker  Hill  Oration      J 

l''l.  Second  Shepherd's  Play,  Everyman,  etc.    I'n]>tr.  .oO  ;  ^mt'n,  .40. 

1'.'-'.  Mrs.  Gaskell's  Cranford.     I'niicr,  M  :  linen,  .4n. 

I'.f..  Williams's^Encid.     /.(/«-•,,,  .73 

I'.'i.  Irvine's  Braocbrirtfce  Hall.     I'njirr,  .1.1  ;  ?i>i«'n.  a. 

I1.'."..  Thoreau's  Walden.     /'<i/,.-/-.  .4")  ;  ///«•»,  .30 

1  '»;.  Sheridan's  The  Rivals.     /'.;/»T.  .1:.  :  /iii»->;.  .23 

1'.'7.  Partoti's  Captains  of  Industry,     /'n/'.v.  .].',  ;  /incn.  .'J.r,. 

I'.w.  I1.'.'.   Maeaulay's  Essays  on  Lori  Clive  ;.nd  Warren  Ilnstings.     In  two  pa) 

each,  /,'i/ie/-   .1.1:  in  on,-  vol.,  Imrn.  .4" 

?«).  Howells's  The  Rise  of  Silas  Lapham      I'njw,  M;  linen,   fit. 

-ill.  Harris's  Little  Mr.  Thimbleflngrer  Stories     /'n;.*-!-,  .:ai  :  <mrn,  .40 

'.'irj.  Jewett's  Th',  Night  Before  Thanksgiving,  A    White  Heron,  and  Select 

Stories      l'ui"->:  -M;  linen,  .'.M. 

•Jftt  The  Nibel-ineenlied.     /.UKII,   7.1. 

am.  Sheffield',  Old  Testament  Narrative.     fVofA,  .73. 

'.'0.1.  Powers'  A  Dickens  Reader.     I'li^n;  :.V  ;  linen,  .40 

LI»;  Goethe'  *  Faust,  Part  I.    l.mm.  7.1. 

L'n7.  Cooper  B  The  Spy.     f'njirr.  M>  ;  Imrn.  .^i. 

•-'"i.  Aldric-h's  Story  bfa  Bad  Boy.     linrn,.:^. 

LI  Hi.  Warner's  Seine-  a  Boy.     /./«.  w.  .40. 

210.  Kate  Douelas  Wise-ill's  I'olly  Oliver's  Problem      I.  men,  .40 

'.'11.  Milton's  Aveopaeiticn.  etc.     ]'<i/ier.  A'.  :  linrn.  ..Vi. 

'J1J.  Shakespoare's  Romeo  and  Juliet.     I'<ii>r>-,    ].'>;  limn.  '25. 

UUi.  Himingwajr's  Le  Morte  Arthur.    (/»  t'rei->iratioii.) 


^4    American  Authors  and  their  Birthdays.     7'.;;rcr,   13 

/<   Portraits  and  Biographical  Sketches  of  20  American  Authors.     P.jj.er,  .15. 

/)   Scudder's  Literature  in  School.     /'.(;.»•..   l.i. 

/•;    Dialogue  and  Scenes  from  Harriet  Bee.  -her  Stowe      I'>I),IT.  .15. 

/•'    Loiiizfel  low  Leaflets,     /''i/.c  r,  .:!ii  ;  /»,.  •«.  .40. 

'/    Whittier  Leaflets.     Paper,  30;  linrn.  ni-t,  M. 

II    Holmes  Leaflets.     Pd/xT,  .30  ;  /in^n,  .40. 

/      Thomas's  How  to  Teach  English  Classics      l'ti]«r,  .15. 

J     Holbrook's  Northland  Heroes,     l.im-n.  .;i1. 

A'   The  Riverside  Primer  nnd  Reader.     J.in-n,  .",o. 

/.    The  Riverside  Sone  Book.     l'<i,,er.  ..'io  ;  tx.unh,  .40. 

.)/   Lowell's  Fable  for  Critics.     1'ni-rr.  .1.1. 

.V   Selections  from  the  Writings  of  Eleven  American  Authors      I'li^f,  .13. 

•/    Lowell  Leaflets.     J'<ii"->:  M  ;  linen.  .40. 

/'    Holbrook's  Hiawatha  Primer.     I.inrn.  .40. 

O    Selections  from  the  Writincs  of  Eleven  Enplish  Authors      Fir/.«r,    15. 

/J    Hawthorne's  Twice-Told  Tales.    Si-U-i-t.-il.  y.i;..'>-,   *i;hn>n.   m. 

>'    Irvine's  Essays  from  Sketeh'Book.    Sfli-i-ti-il.     l'nt.,r.  :m  ;  /m.  u,   40. 

/'    Literature  for  the  Study  of  Laneuaee.     1'ii^rr,  .'.t<  :  hnrn,  40. 

r    A  Dramatization  of  The'  Song  of  Hiawatha.     J'd;.-  /-,  .1.1. 

I'    Holbrook's  Book  ofNature  Myths      AIIK-FI,  .4.1. 

II    Brown's  In  the  Days  of  Giants.     I.inm,  ..Vi. 

-V    Pooms  for  the  Study  of  Language.     ]':ij"r,   .30;  ?in»-»,  .40      Alio  in  three   jn 

each,  nn;i^r,  .15. 

1'    Warner's  In  the  Wildernf  SB.     r^i^r.  20:  rinrn,  ..'!0. 
Z    Nine  Selected  Poems.     1'ai-fr.    15  :  /iwn,   L'.l. 
J.4   Coleridge's  The  Ancient  Mariner  and  Lowell's  The  Vision  of  Sir  Laun 

I'ni.fr,  .15. 
HP.   Po«'a  The  Raven.  Whittier's    Snow-Bound,   and  Longfellow'!  Th»  Coi 

^hip  of  Milea  Standiah.     /'.i;.rr.    1.1. 
0V  Selections   for  Study  and   Memorizing      For  Grades    I-III       Pa/irr,  .14  1 

hnrn,  .2.'. 
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